The Future Is Now Man invents how to shape stone and fire. The first pinnacle of intelligence. Man discovers oil, a new way to burn fire, the second apex of intellect. Now the birth of nanotechnology and the burning of energy to move at the speed of light, bringing us to the third zenith of intelligence. Ingeniously invented new technology in ambient and nanotechnology, the Chelsea Corporation could take the world into the discovery of the century. A world free of diseases and polluting energy. Maddox Mathews, new executive for Alona, a designing company is in the middle of a merger with a fast growing corporation called Chelsea. Maddox, fond of the technology this company is manufacturing also leads him into wanting a relationship with the CEO herself, Nzingha Chelsea, the richest woman in the world. He wonders if she has mutual feelings for him or is she just using him to get what she wants for her company. FBI Agent, Joe Clay, investigating the Chelsea Company unravels one of its darkest secrets. The company, while sharing its new technology, is assassinating top executives of competitive corporations to gain more supremacy in the corporate market. With the CIA involved, only making his attempts at cracking the issue worse. The CIA, implementing their will, trying to contain this new technology, has given the Chelsea Company an ultimatum. Professionals from the FBI and CIA could collaborate or collide trying to learn the deep nature and intentions of Chelsea. Thus bringing Maddox, Nzingha, and Joe in the middle of things out of their control.
Masters of Fire
By Derrick John WigginsAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2011 Derrick John Wiggins
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4567-5090-9Chapter One
MARK DOUGLAS KISSED HIS DAUGHTER and wife before he lefthis summer house this early warm morning. In his Range Rover he pickedup three of his life-long friends. They all had vacation homes about tenmiles apart, give or take. They had done this for six years.
Mark felt pleasant today. He was going to fish at Chesapeake Bay withhis friends half of the day, then spend time with his family the other half.He and his buddies Larry, Raymond, and Carl all picked the last week inAugust as they always did for the last six years. Larry had picked the spot,and Mark had suggested they all build homes in the area. Mark, bring chiefexecutive of Clive Inspirations, felt he was an expert at building on land.
Larry was a fat guy who was always joking around. Typical, Markthought; there was always some fat guy who went around the room tellingcomic stories. It was probably so no one could make fun of his size. All hisfriends were typical; middle aged, white, wealthy, with egos.
Raymond had light brown hair, blue eyes, five feet and eleven inches,he loved his job as an executive at Mate's, a banking firm. Then there wasCarl, who was a banker at Adams & Abraham. He had the most problemsof all, Mark believed. Probably was paid the least, too. So what? Marklaughed to himself. They all owned houses, many cars, and loved to go onvacations every summer.
"Hey, can we talk about anything else but work?" Mark requested,cutting off Larry and Raymond from verbalizing about labor. "We're goingto have a good time this week, okay?"
"Don't get angry because you don't deal with real live clients," Larryspoke.
"I don't care what type of jobs we have," Mark said. Then demandedmore than asked, "let's talk about something else." He changed lanes on ahighway almost void of automobiles this early morning.
"Okay," Carl voiced from the back seat with Larry. "My wife hadanother miscarriage."
"You sure she's alright?" Larry asked. "That's her fourth one thisyear."
"I don't know," Carl said to himself more than answering Larry.
"I saw on TV once ..." Mark spoke reminiscing. "I'm not saying yourwife, Carl, but this lady on TV was making babies and purposely killingthem. They say it's some kind of disease where a person wants you to feelsorry for them all the time. I forgot the name of a person like that."
"You've told us about problems of depression your wife had," Larryspoke to Carl directly, then to Mark. "I think it's called an over excessiveco-dependency disease."
"Yeah, I think she might have that?" Carl said to himself again morethan anyone else.
"First, we didn't want to talk about work," Larry spoke to everyone."Now do we want to talk about Carl's co-dependent wife?"
The guys laughed and said, "No," simultaneously. Carl then gave asmirk and folded his arms.
There goes Larry again Mark smiled, always trying to make jokes outof a predicament.
Chesapeake Bay took in a light breeze from the Atlantic Ocean. Mark'sSabreline 47 white motor-yacht took off toward deeper water, moving pastthe estuary. This now late morning was lightly cloudy, and yachts litteredthe ocean as far as Mark could see. He steered the boat, King, for tenminutes before coming to a halt.
Some hours had passed as four fishing lines disappeared into the green-blue salt water. They soon filled white buckets with small Cod and Whitefish as they sat in small wooden chairs on the stern.
Mark moved to the galley to get his mates more beer and homemadesandwiches. His wife made ten sandwiches of ham, turkey, and bolognaas she always did. She was a traditional wife, Mark thought, and loyal.
He wouldn't give her up for Carl's attractive co-dependent wife for theworld.
He couldn't stop his friends from talking of work again. Money seemsto make the world go around. Mark sighed. So they spoke of investmentsand banking, for that's what they did all their lives.
SOMEONE HAD BEEN WATCHING THEM CLOSELY since theyleft the bay. She was fifty feet from them in a dark gray and navy blue jetboat. She scrutinized them carefully with powerful ultra-bright pocket sizemarine binoculars. She squinted her slanted gray-blue eyes as she peeredthrough the lenses.
In her skin-tight diving suit that matched her boat precisely, she startedthe engine. It was time. She waited for most of the boats in the area todrift away from the King. It was so crowded today, she thought. It tooktwo hours for most of the vessels to float enough away out of view. Herwhole persona was about time, and she lived by it. Precisely two hours ofwaiting, she said to herself, as she eyed her two waterproof watches on herwrist. She was on a tight schedule, yet patient. Her mission estimated tonow be thirty minutes. She then eased on black gloves and directed herboat toward the King.
CARL NOTICED HER FIRST. He felt he would have never recognizedher except for the fact that she cruised her small jet boat straight towardthem. She looked ten years younger than he and maybe Philippine orKorean. Her long straight black hair would have flown all over the placeexcept it was neatly in a firm bun. Carl also recognized her attractivetan round face and likely healthy curved-shaped rump in a skintight fullswimming suit. Nice body, Carl thought, not chubby and not skinnyeither. He waved at her, smiling.
She moved closer now, six feet from the King. Carl noticed Larry alsowaved, observing her. Smiling, she waved back, steering the boat with herright hand to come abreast to their boat."Ahoy there, how are you?" Carl asked, standing. It was somethinghe'd wished he'd never done, because he was the first to be caught offguard.
SHE RESPONDED WITH A WIDER SMILE, now three feet from theKing, and shut off her engines. Time was of the essence, a principle shelived by. She understood her target, and it was time to take it out beforemore boats drifted back this way. She didn't know the other three menand considered them collateral damage. They were just in the wrong placeat the wrong time. There's that word time again, she said to herself as shesmiled.
Finding her brown air-pistol that was hidden in a dashboard under thesteering wheel, she grabbed it in a tight grip. She took-out the guys whowaved at her first. Before the guy standing, waving, could do anything,she shot him in the neck. She was inhumanly fast and fired again at a fatguy sitting, hitting him in the calf.
She saw that they realized the pinky-finger size dart she shot themwith didn't kill them right away. They moved about, aggravated at thetiny thing in their neck and leg and knocked it out for it to bounce abouton the deck. They also moved about just enough for her to get a clear shotat another man sitting next to the fat fellow. She fired again hitting thatman in the shoulder, and he cursed. Then she spotted her objective in thegalley—Mark Douglas.
He looked just like the photo she was given of him and she studied hisfeatures, salmon complexion, light brown eyes, and straight neat short cuthair. He wore a white short sleeve Lacoste sports shirt and shorts. Precisionwas another trait she owned as time and speed.
She saw that Mark was confused about the circumstances, and shecapitalized on it. They locked eyes for what seemed like the longest splitsecond. She fired again, and he ducked. Got him! She yelled in her head.Although there was a window between them, the dart still made it through.It chipped a round hole in the glass and hit him square in the earlobe. Thenhe ducked, dropping sandwiches and a open beer that was in his hands.
She worked expeditiously as she dropped the pistol in the water andgrabbed an air tank she brought with her and scuba diving gear. Nowfloating two feet from the King she tossed the equipment aboard. Beingextremely athletic, another hobby of hers, she leaped for the side of theboat. Catching the steel rail, she flipped aboard, landing next to hersupplies.
She looked around, still no other boats had drifted near. She glanced ather watches—time gone by so far, three minutes. The strong anti-anxietydrug she shot the three with worked quickly, as did she. The three she hitfirst lay out on the stern of the boat, moaning. Taking out a hypodermicsyringe from a pouch at her side, she hastily stabbed the three men in thesame location where the first darts entered. From the syringe she squeezeddetoxification drugs into the fat guy's leg, the other guy in the neck, andthe last man in the shoulder.
When she walked toward Mark in the galley, he was still stumblingabout on his knees mumbling.
"What are you trying to ..." He then for some reason tried to reachout toward her and fainted.
When he dropped to the floor, she grabbed a cone cylinder from herpouch. She fit the cylinder in his mouth and picked up the spilled Budweiserhe dropped. She poured the rest of the beverage down his throat. Next toa counter she calmly opened a large blue cooler full of ice and all typesof beverages. Finding a six-pack of Budweiser, she ripped out four cans.Opening them, she continued to pour the contents into Mark's belly. Shecrushed some of the empty cans with her hand and threw them across thefloor. There, she thought, now it looks like a real man drank those beers.She then neatly put the cylinder back in her pouch. She retrieved the fourdarts she shot at her victims and also put them in her sack.
Moving upstairs to the open helm, she started the engine and directedthe King deeper into the Atlantic. Time now, fifteen minutes into herassignment. After estimating she was about forty yards from her jet boatand more away from the yachts in the area, she stopped the King. Movingback downstairs in the galley, she lifted Mark onto her shoulders andcarried him to the helm. Laying him on his back on the floor, she dressedin her scuba diving gear.
Starting the ships engine again, she drove it at top speed. She thenmade a sudden left turn against the current of the waves; a left turn thatshe knew the yacht couldn't handle at fifty knots. The bow lifted straight inthe air in an acute angle. With a loud moan of wood and metal, the Kingtop-sided. Humans and supplies dispersed everywhere into the sea. Fornow she was sure no other vessels saw the King's huge white belly bobblein the middle of the blue ocean.
Underwater now with regulator and tank, she watched more suppliesempty below the waves. Waving her arms and peddling her feet about sixfeet under the sea, she watched chairs, buckets, and cans float slowly pasther. The sun shone bright, making the water around her reflect beams oflight with flickers of grays and dark blues. She also observed two darksilhouettes of bodies in a dead-man's float above her; their bodies breakingthe beams of sunlight.
Her diving gear matching the sea made her virtually vanish below thewaves. With powerful kicks and waving arm movements, she swam theforty yards back to her boat. Climbing into her boat, she stripped out of hergear and swimming-suit down to a dark-green and blue bikini, showing herbody had black tribal tattoos on her left shoulder, lower back, and left sideof her buttocks. Her light caramel complexion made the tattoos define.
Time now, thirty-five minutes, she thought, five minutes over schedule.She quickly let her hair out to fall down her back, then started the engine.She drove back to the docks in the bay, still avoiding most of the yachtsin the area.
She was annoyed with herself. She spent too much time gloating atthe beauty of the ocean under water. Or was she merely taking pride inher work by staring at it? Or was it both? It was neither, she thought.Her mission was strictly business. She didn't care about the ocean anddidn't care about the humans she just dumped into the sea. Next timeshe was going to be faster; a promise she made with herself. Time was hereverything as were her missions.
Chapter Two
THE IMPENDING TOWERS, also known as the Chelsea Towers,went up a towering sixty stories in the daytime downtown skyline ofColumbus, OH. The blue and light brown twin buildings replicatedcylinders connected at the bottom by a ten-story triangular building. ToMaddox, it reflected an architectural construction for show. Obviously, itwas, he thought. Look at the building's lobby.
The entire entryway was a rapture of Egyptian fashion. There werestatues of sphinxes and obelisks with walls and floor that mimickedlimestone. Palm trees and huge water fountains decorated the five hundred-foot triangular lobby. The entrance hall housed golden elevators, four tothe left going into the west tower and four on the right for the east tower.Four colorful Egyptian palm-style columns held up the four-story ceiling,giving the atmosphere a true historic feel Maddox thought.
Maddox Mathews sat quietly on a black leather couch in a large waitingroom outside Chelsea's main office. On the twenty-first floor in the easttower he stared out a large window looking down at the city of Columbus.He saw North Bank Park and the Scioto River, but still didn't get the fulleffect the building had to offer. The higher floors had a grander view ofthe full city landscape of the Leveque Tower, William Green Building,and One Nationwide Plaza.
For four years Impending Towers towered over the Rhodes StateOffice Tower, making these building the tallest in all of Ohio state. Yes,Impending Towers was even taller than the Key Towers in Cleveland,Maddox believed. He wasn't even going to witness the beauty of it all hereon the twenty-first floor. He wasn't here for that.
He was here for pure business, like the black guy in the dark blue suitwho sat on another identical couch across from him. The guy held a brownbriefcase and looked nervous as he switched positions in his seat for theeighth time.
Then there was the secretary. She was calm, Maddox thought—toocalm. Aggravatingly calm, like he hadn't been sitting here for almost fifteenminutes. She was a black woman wearing a gray skirt suit. Attractive faceand figure, shoulder brown highlighted straight hair, French manicure,and he could smell her saccharine perfume from where he sat.
The reception brown desk sat near two large brown marble doors. Thedesk with computer was large enough that Maddox couldn't see suppliesor what the secretary was doing behind it. All Maddox saw was her phoneheadset attached to her head. She could have been hard at work or playingaround for all Maddox knew as he eyed his silver Omega watch. Twentyminutes waiting now.
Two Oriental men, one in a navy blue suit and the other in brown,emerged from the marble doors. They mumbled cheerfully in their foreignlanguage passing Maddox. Happy from some deal, he supposed.
"Mr.
Continues...
Excerpted from Masters of Fireby Derrick John Wiggins Copyright © 2011 by Derrick John Wiggins. Excerpted by permission.
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