Forbidden Text (Transformational Thriller) - Hardcover

Clark, Dawn

Hardcover

ISBN 10: 1608322807 ISBN 13: 9781608322800

Publisher: Greenleaf Book Group LLC, 2013

Synopsis

When one of her patients, an ordinary housewife, conducts a high-tech terrorist attack in a mall near Washington, D.C., psychiatrist Dr. Katrina Walker is thrown into the forefront of a top-secret government investigation. Working alongside maverick intelligence officer Jim Clark, the grandson of a Native American shaman, Walker applies her skills in deciphering human energy fields to discover the point at which the ultimate pain becomes the ultimate pleasure. Integrating into his program, Clark gives birth to a new kind of strategic intelligence that revolutionizes America's security apparatus. The goal: to save the world from a sophisticated network of operatives who threaten to unleash the ultimate weaponus. Piecing together stories from their pasts and clues from forensic analysis, Walker and Clark set out to stop a twisted genius plotting to create a super-race of programmed operatives triggered into action by the most basic, and powerful, of human impulses. Explorations of the human subconscious quickly turn to adrenaline-charged action as Clark and Walker face brutal killers, experts in the use of conventional and psychological weapons in a desperate race for the forbidden text. Inspired by her own near death experiences, her psychological investigations, and her father's counterintelligence experience, the author delivers an exceptional thriller that combines pulse pounding suspense with an astonishing and heartbreaking tale of family strength. The first in a projected series of novels, The Forbidden Text will hook you with relentless action and a penetrating look into the depths of the human psyche.

About this title

About the Author

Dawn Clark is a renowned teacher and spiritual seer who delivers insights and tools that unleash the full potential of conscious creation. She has guided individual clients, as well as organizations such as the 2010 Olympics, Wall Street Journal Online, ABC, PBS, and FOX. Prior to the death of her father, Jim Clark, Dawn assisted in chronicling his adventures in counterintelligence. Internationally published, Dawn is a bestselling author and accomplished keynote speaker.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.

THE FORBIDDEN TEXT

A TRANSFORMATIONAL THRILLERBy DAWN CLARK

Greenleaf Book Group Press

Copyright © 2012 Dawn Clark
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-60832-280-0

Chapter One

SOVIET-OCCUPIED EASTERN EUROPE, 1988

A drenaline pushed James Clark hard. Twenty-two minutes and three and a half miles of mountainous terrain behind him, a bright orange light briefly illuminated his path through the woods. Explosions erupted in the distance, shaking clumps of lingering snow from the trees. Heart pounding, chest heaving, he paused briefly to look back. Fire painted the night sky orange.

His mind flashed back to less than an hour before. He had infiltrated the secret soviet compound to extract her before the airstrike hit. startled awake, she had opened her mouth to scream, but Clark's hand had been faster, stifling her into silence. Black clothing veiled his tall, sinewy form, and in the dark confines of her room, her fear-filled eyes 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.

"What the hell?" he stammered.

"Her name is Alexia," Eliza offered in abbreviated response as she passed 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.

Eliza scrambled to dress and began stuffing final items for her daughter 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!"

"There's no time for that! All you need is a coat."

The baby squirmed again, threatening to rouse.

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!"

"I can't let them have it. The map leads to the Forbidden Text!"

"You're the real asset. You can re-create the fucking map!"

"It's not that simple," she argued. "It's cryptic—filled with symbols 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.

He felt it before he heard it—a forewarning in his gut. Instinctively, he shoved Eliza flat up against the wall with an arm across her chest, as the fingers of his other hand wrapped silently around the handle of his 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 Krueger, a high-ranking KGB official he'd code-named Cobra. The medium-built, 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 them out an unmarked fire exit. Outside in the snow, they pressed into the dark shadow of the building. A crackling, cold siberian wind bit Clark's face as he surveyed their escape route through the compound.

"Damn. The cloud cover's breaking," he muttered almost imperceptibly.

Intermittent rays of moonlight reflected brilliantly off smattered patches of icy snow. Their shroud was rapidly dwindling.

"Wait here," Eliza said as she thrust Alexia into his arms. "I'm not leaving without the map." The silk scarf wrapped around her head concealed 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 my journals, along with notes about Blackheart's master plan. I can explain everything later, but right now I've got to get the map. The Forbidden Text can never be allowed to fall into Father's hands!"

"Just tell me where to look. I'll go."

"You'll never find it in time," she replied. The resolve in her voice left 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 counterintelligence agent's greatest weakness—flooded his being. For an instant he found himself lost, floating in that space of timelessness, until a roving 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.

The baby whimpered and burst into a wail just as Eliza came crashing, stumbling, out of a side door fifty yards away with guards in hot pursuit.

"Run!" Clark roared, drawing his gun up to aim.

Quickly regaining her footing, Eliza sprinted full-tilt in his direction.

The first guard from the door intercepted a muffled bullet from Clark's suppressed Colt with his temple, falling in a heap that the second guard nearly tripped over.

Clark, forced to aim close over Eliza's shoulder, fired two more rounds into the second man's chest.

As the second guard hit the ground, Eliza was closing the distance. But a third guard leapt sideways from the door, placing himself behind Eliza—Clark had no shot.

The soldier raised his rifle and squeezed off a round before Clark 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, ragged pulls. "The map ... it's gone ..." she said, her face growing ashen.

Clark felt her hand touch his. He looked down to see her fingers unfurl 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.

Clark kissed her mouth softly. The coppery taste of her blood mixed 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 glanced back. The sky glowed orange with fire. Himmelshaus—Blackheart'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?

Chapter Two

BOSTON, PRESENT DAY

Dr. Katrina Walker's pale blue eyes surveyed the clear Boston skyline as she walked toward the subway. she had just finished presenting to a packed auditorium at Harvard University. Prompted by concerns of terrorism, and in light of a recent study confirming that standard lie detection methods and polygraphs often 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 papers on the underlying superstructure of field engagement, along with its applications and fusion in biology, physics, and psychology, were clearly next-generation thinking. Today, her leading-edge presentation offered alternatives for identifying spies and detecting threats to national security through the emerging field of bioenergetics.

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.

With the presentation over, she thought her tension would have eased, but the wind's breath confirmed something was definitely wrong. Once before, she had harbored a similar sensation of unrest. Two hours later, her mom had been airlifted to the hospital.

Chapter Three

James Clark pressed the button on the side of his watch. The digits 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 windows had dropped Clark a mile from his final destination, and he 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?"

"Thank you," Clark replied as he slipped off his outer garment.

The saucy brunette smiled approvingly as she eyed his tall, well-toned physique.

Clark's eyes cut through the dimly lit, smoke-filled room assessing the menagerie that lay before him. The place was packed. Plush sofas and rich burgundy love seats sported intoxicated men draped with luscious silicone beauties. Five blocks from the White House, the upscale club offered table dancing and did a booming business with politicians, ambassadors, executives, and men anxious to deflate their bulging bank accounts. The club's interior was a stimulus overload—lights flashing through smoke, expensive décor, and exotic sultry 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 eyes fixed on his as she made her way through the sea of tables.

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 exchanged knowing hellos. Under different circumstances he would 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.

"The usual," he replied amusedly, playing along.

"let's go, handsome," she said, squeezing his right buttock firmly 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.

Chapter Four

Successive explosions, moments apart, ravaged structures in Boston's Copley square. The shock wave shattered windows three blocks away. Panic reigned; terrified people scurried to escape the danger zone. survival instincts fueled a stampede of shoving and shouting, with little regard for life. The first explosion had ripped through the lobby of the Grand Hotel, a stone's throw from the Convention Center, disemboweling the meticulously renovated 180-year-old building. In the hollow orifices where antique glass panes once stood, smoke belched as flames hungrily lapped the red brick exteriors.

Miles away, Katrina squeezed through the subway doors to catch the outbound Red line. The train lurched to a start. She found an empty seat and closed her eyes. The surrounding commuters' chatter blended with the whoosh of the train as Katrina's mind drifted into a light sleep.

In her half-dreams, a nightmare unfolded. Gurgled screams of terrified people accompanied wafts of burning flesh and painted grisly images in her mind.

The subway jerked to a halt and Katrina's eyes flew open. A deepening sense of disquietude crept through every fiber of her being. That had been the third such dream in as many days.

Glimpses of human tragedy etched in time had plagued her for years. To better understand the phenomena, she had consulted Russell Targ, the physicist who had formerly run the U.s. government's remote viewing program, Project Stargate. He had explained that she was tapping nonlocal reality—a field of information not limited by the realms of time and physical space—a field capable of being imprinted by intense emotion. Tragedy was what Katrina stumbled into most often when she connected, and she rarely knew if she was experiencing the past, an incident occurring in real time, or a premonition of things yet to come.

The subway doors slid wide open.

The conductor's voice boomed, "We are experiencing a temporary service interruption. All passengers must exit. The mBTA apologizes for any inconvenience."

(Continues...)

Excerpted from THE FORBIDDEN TEXTby DAWN CLARK Copyright © 2012 by Dawn Clark. Excerpted by permission of Greenleaf Book Group Press. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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Edition details

• Publisher: Greenleaf Book Group LLC
• Publication date: 2013
• Language: English
• ISBN 10: 1608322807
• ISBN 13: 9781608322800
• Binding: Hardcover
• Number of pages: 350