SEAGLASS EYES A Nick and Sarah Mystery. |
A frantic search for high-tech riches where innocence isn't protection, and a child baits a deadly trap |
Nick and Sarah expected sunshine and clean air when they retired to the casual coast of Northern California's Monterey Bay--not homicide and danger--but when her driftwood crafts are stolen and the thief brutally murdered, the good vibes turn weird fast, landing them directly in the path of a deadly fight for high-tech riches. They got lucky with the Fogstalker, but now they're marked by a sadistic opportunist with a frozen soul and, unaware of mounting threats, make perfect targets as the hunters close in. But not even the freaky cast of wannabes, killers, gamblers, and vigilantes that converge on the narrow streets of Aptos can outmaneuver this ex-schoolteacher and this ex-nurse: "retired" doesn't mean "helpless"! So when the corporate heat hits the beach to kick butt, not kick back, better slip on the shades, stay cool, and stand clear for action. You can step on their peace and quiet, but don't ever mess with their family! Retirement will just have to wait. |
Reader reactions: "Littlefield's written a thriller! ...can't put it down..."--Palo Alto, CA. "Portrays the competitive side of the tech-industry, industrial theivery, and all..."--Menlo Park, CA. |
Trade paperback...Publication date: May 2001...ISBN: 0-595-18552-5...240 Pages |
Chapter 1 begins... Perfect. The place was almost empty, echoing reassuringly when he dropped his coffee cup, and Peter Haas sat silently at his workstation booting up his nerve. This is it! All I gotta do is stand up and go, and they can't prove shit. Th' hell with Ramos! 2RTech was almost empty this morning, and security was light enough to be laughable. Everyone wanted to make the party and had already left to drive to the coast--a slam-dunk, for sure! So with Hannah set--secure in his gathered brown hair and held tight by the black pony--all he had to do was walk out like normal. 500K, just like that! + + + + Nick Worther almost ran into Annee as he hurried out to the Cherokee. His neighbor wasn't looking, preoccupied with stuffing her reddish hair under a limegreen ballcap, and she caught Nick in tan walking shorts and faded blue henley, turning from the front door with his hands full of gear. "Hey!" he protested, barely avoiding her. "Leaving?" She sounded surprised, ignoring the near-collision. "Party time, remember? Jerry's company will be on the beach all afternoon--It's catered and everything! We were hoping you and Sarah would drop by." She looked ready to hit the sand: Ecology Now! on maroon T-shirt, loose blue denim shorts, and rubber sandals. Nick awkwardly juggled his collection of navy blue sweatshirt, sunscreen, and baseball cap and glanced at the steel gray California sky. Monterey Bay's morning overcast was already showing signs of clearing, and Seacliff State Beach was going to be clear and warm by afternoon--party weather. "Didn't she tell you? Baseball game. I'm meeting our son-in-law in Palo Alto to catch the train to PacBell. It's the first home stand we could both get to this year--We were lucky to snag the tickets!" He reached up and crammed on the black Giants hat, forcing random gray hair to pop up over his ears. Annee shook her head. "Fans! All the way up to San Francisco, just for a game!" "Hey, if you don't understand, it can't be explained. Scoring these seats is like a surprise gift. A treat. Baseball's therapeutic." "Steve, too? Poor Linda!" "Think of it as a hobby like your little craft business. You and Sarah spent most of the winter putting that together." "Sure. But there's a difference between a hobby and an obsession. Think about it." "Okay! It's fun--alright?! Just harmless fun!" Annee threw up both hands. "Fine! You win! Enjoy the game. Is Sarah joining us for a soda or whatever?" "Think so. She wanted to scrounge the beach for stuff to finish her final fish, but she'll be free later." "I'll encourage her." Annee moved toward the door. "Look, thanks, anyway," said Nick. "It all sounds good, but why the sudden change of heart? All we've heard from Jerry lately is grousing about work and how hard they've been pushing everyone. Did his boss win the Lotto or something?" "Jerry calls it a surprise 'thank you' for all the good work--the First Annual. Why question a freebie?" Nick grinned and agreed. "Actually," she stage-whispered, "the buzz says their new product is a big deal--a market monster--but you didn't hear it from me. Insider stuff." "Why tell me? I'm a techno-dunce." "Exactly. You're safe, 'cause you don't care. Secrets are critical in the Valley. Jerry says it's worse than the Cold War. Spies, double-agents, covert ops--Competition's fierce." "Well, that's just what I mean--If the performance pressure's so high at work, then why a beach party? Why come all the way over here and waste all that time?" Annee shrugged. "Probably figured they'd all quit if they didn't do something to lighten up--even symbolically. Besides, I guess the CEO--Martin Ramos, I mean--is nostalgic. You know, he grew up right here in Aptos. Beachrat makes good, I guess. We always see a few company parties here each summer, so this time, it's our turn." "Okay, if you say so. Look, have fun, and thanks for the invitation. I've gotta roll." "Later," said Annee, opening the door. "Sarah? It's me. Mind if I come in?" + + + + "Okay, I got here as soon as possible--just where are we with this?!" Straight down the tubes or you wouldn't've called me, O'Conner figured as he waited for the answer. Despite the opportunity to name his price, he was disappointed with Martin Ramos, with the way he'd lost control, failed to motivate loyalty in his people. He'd always looked up to Uncle Marty, thought he was smarter than that, but complacency at the top is both contagious and dangerous. The tough old bastard was getting soft. "Too far!" Ramos admitted angrily. He raised both hands and ran them back over his thinning brown hair, skin several shades redder than normal. "I hate to call for reinforcements--even you, Ryan." "What finally convinced you?" "One of my key engineers--Phillip Tran--bailed without warning. Just didn't show up for work yesterday, and after so many years, I just couldn't accept the obvious. Rumors went wild." "Why call me if it's already gone? It's a done deal." "No!" Ramos's head shook in violent denial, and his face's angry flush deepened noticeably. "That unit's had maximum secirity in place from the inception. Nobody--including me--ever leaves the building without full body scans, and we also enforce random spot checks. Tran didn't just stroll out with it." "Then why panic? Are you certain anything's missing?" "Not clear--That is, we have no physical evidence, but I believe the rumors have substance. They don't have the flavor of malicious gossip. The whispers say Tran sold out, but I still can't see how he could move it off-site." "No? Think he has an in-house partner?" "Damn right, I do! And your job's to find him or her. We'll worry about Tran later. Morale's been slipping, and I waited too long." The younger man nodded, vaguely amused by Ramos's self-induced plight. "No shit. So what's our status? Look, my crew's on the way, and we'll lock the site down and run a full sweep. But I'm warning you we may already be too late if your missing property's already left. If you're right and it's an inside deal, then what's to stop boosting it today and dropping it on the way to this party? That happens, and we're screwed! Why'd you agree to something like that?!" O'Conner was calm but forceful, although he knew Marty was primed for a meltdown. Bad news did it--zero to sixty in a nonosecond. 'Wonder the heart held up with a temper like that. "So I screwed up! You're here to fix it!" Ramos's blood flared, but he swallowed his rage. No time for indecision. "I kept hearing hints--You know how it is in this valley. It was there, but I couldn't see it, thought it was just the troops whining about working so hard. Sour grapes, you know? I wasn't convinced until early this morning when I called you. Shit, I was awake all night, checking my gut and trying to decide!" "You're working too hard. It's messing up your instincts." "Can the lecture,and get after it. This is your operation now, Ryan. On your own discretion, take whatever action necessary and save my project. If we've lost containment, intercept and retrieve--and assume we can't trust anyone, so everyone's a suspect. Full alert! This is a war, dammit! and we've gotta win!" "The party?" "Secure it! Round 'em up! Shut it down! Your call." O'Conner held up a cautioinary finger, listening to his earplug, then moved to the door. "Let's go. Your regular guards are cooperating with my group on searching this place. A grain of sand couldn't hide from my guys. I'll pull a team and blanket the party--best we can do." Wasted effort, he told himself cynically. Too late and too loose--a fuckin' beach party, forchrisake! Marty needs a reality fix! "This won't look good. It's a public place." "Let's be clear. What's your priority? P.R. or effectiveness?" Ramos grabbed his olive drab nylon windbreaker, and realized he was burning his bridges. When you called in Ryan O'Conner you new you were one step from disaster. He looked at his godson, vaguely thinking how proud his old partner, Reilly, would have been of his strong, tough child. Ryan was a chip off the old block, right down to the flattop, the blue eyes, and the powerful build--a paternal clone, except for the dark blonde hair. Yeah, and if Reilly were still alive, this never wudda happened. He always had his finger on everything in the company--even the rumors--wudda cut this off at the neck. 'Course, if Reilly was around, maybe the kid wouldn't be like this. Maybe he wouldn't of been such a problem in school and the Rangers. Maybe he wouldn't have the rep he does today. Maybe I'd be hiring someone else to do my dirty work. "Do what you have to," he told his new troubleshooter. "We can always apologize later. If we lose this, we're going down." "Let's move out. Time's wasting!" + + + + Peter was in the corridor, walking in a fast stroll towards the employee exit, when he heard laughter behind him. "Hey, Pete!" Allen Gee and Dorothy Chellaman caught up quickly. "Hey," he said. Their company was a nuisance. Dorothy was clearly agitated, blue eyes wide behind the black-rimmed eyeglasses. "Did'ya see the sucurity guys?! They're running around like mice in a maze. Something's up!" "Something weird. We'd better get outta here before they bust us," Allen joked nervously. Peter agreed quickly, still walking. "Right. Party-poopers, huh?" "Uh-oh." Allen looked at the door opening ahead. "Heads up. It's The Man." A sharp charge of fear snapped Peter's head up and made his heart beat faster. Crap! Ramos and some hardass with a Marine's blonde brush-cut turned to meet them. The CEO's lean face showed all the lines of a hard life, but his dark eyes zeroed in intensely on his three employees. "Well..."a minute hesitation, then he cracked a professional smile. "Miss Chellaman, Mr. Gee, Mr. Haas--such commendable dedication! You'll be late." "We're on our way," said Dorothy agreeably. "Wouldn't miss it for anything." "I wasn't planning..." Peter started, but Ramos cut him off and indicated the man in the black bomber jacket with the clip in his ear and the mic on his shoulder. "Mr. O'Conner, people--our new security honcho. Cooperation is the word." Something's changed, Peter realized. What's up? O'Conner smiled perfunctorily and slipped on a pair of wire-rimmed sunglasses before heading out into the bright June sunshine. "Pleased," he snapped. "We'll talk later." "Party time, team!" Ramos clapped his hands like a cheerleader--an ageing cheerleader on a downward slide. He didn't look well, in spite of the cheerful smile. "C'mon," he said, waving them ahead authoritatively like the squad leaader he'd once been in Vietnam, "move out!" "We'll be right behind you," added the hardguy. His evaluating gaze sliced through the dark lenses, implication clear: mandatory attendance--no excuses. Peter masked his clutching fear with a poker face and cardboard smile. Panic time. |
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