Pulp Nocturne

Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 22

2011-12-29T08:39:00.000-05:00

To Pike, it seemed as though he regained consciousness immediately.

There was a deep blackness, then he came fully awake. He was in a room of indeterminate size. There was only a single light–a small lamp with a low-wattage bulb on a table to his left.

His hands were behind him, restrained by something. It felt like plastic. Probably riot cuffs.

Someone sat in the shadows in front of him, ten or twelve feet away. It was a man, but Pike could not make out his features.

From the breathing sounds behind him, he was guarded by at least two men. Or perhaps they planned to torture him. Pike didn’t think that he would be killed, at least not yet. They could have easily killed him on the roof.

“No hangover,” Pike said. “It wasn’t chloroform.”

“It’s a pentothal derivative,” the shadowed man said. “Something our people are still fine-tuning. I’ll let them know you appreciate it.” The voice was soft and cultured, with the slightest hint of an accent.

“Sure,” Pike said. He lunge forward and tried to stand up. The chair was heavy, and his shoulders and head were grabbed by unseen hands and he was forced back in his seat.

“Bad behavior will not be tolerated, Mr. Pike,” the voice said from the darkness. “Explain it to him.”

A large form stepped in front of Pike. The guy was at least six-five and built like a football linebacker. The lamp’s weak illumination didn’t extend to the man’s face, though Pike could clearly see one beefy hand slide a set of brass knuckles onto a scarred fist. He tried to roll with the punch to lessen its impact, but he had nowhere to go. The blow caught him on the point of his chin, driving his head back against the chair. Pike had been hit many times, but never like that. Pain overwhelmed his senses. He heard or saw nothing, save a roaring in his ears and bright pinpoints of light behind his eyes. He felt blood dripping from his chin.

It took at least a full minute before he could get his jaw to work. When he was able to move it he said, “Where’s Gemma Ravencroft?”

“Who?” The shadowed man said. He chuckled. “Sorry. I couldn’t resist. Yes, I represent the Brotherhood of the First. I’m going to ask you some questions, then let you go. Unless you piss me off.”

“Why would you let me go?”

The man sighed. “Apparently you intend to piss me off.”

“Where’s Gemma?”

“I could have Lenny punch you again, or you can answer my questions. If you cooperate, I’ll tell you about the Ravenscroft woman. Fair enough?”

“‘Lenny’?” Pike said.

The large man in front of him made a sound deep in his chest.

“What do you know about La Ciudad de los Dioses?” the shadowed man said.

“Seriously?”

The man was silent for a few seconds. “Excuse me?”

“You drugged me, brought me here and went through this bad-spy movie crap to ask me about a kid’s story?”

“La Ciudad de los Dioses is real, Mr Pike.”

“Bullshit,” Pike said.

“Now, now. It is best that I remain your friend. Tell me what you know about the City of the Gods.”

Pike drew in a deep breath. Gemma, he told himself. Think about Gemma.

“Look, it’s a crazy myth. Like Bigfoot or skinny Oprah. There’s a hidden city full of spaceman ray guns. Blah, blah, blah.”

“Yes,” the man said. “A myth your father believed.”

“He did,” Pike said. “How about you? Did your old man every do anything crazy?”

The man ignored him. “I know the city is real because our search for it has produced many treasures. Like the back light weapon you encountered. Twice, I believe. And the technology that killed the unfortunate Mr. Swift.”

“You didn’t have to kill him,” Pike said. Now his head throbbed from anger as much as from the earlier blow.

“Mr. Pike, you vex us. How much information do we share? Should we kill you to eliminate a nuisance? Finally, it was decided. We will let you live. For that boon you will work for us.”

“Like hell.”

“We want you to find La Ciudad de los Dioses. We have been unsuccessful so far, but we know of your tenacity and skill. We will continue to search, of course. Another team in the field can only hasten the discovery.”

Pike smiled, even though doing so hurt his face. “Might as well shoot me now, cupcake. I’m not working for you.”

The man crossed his leg. His tapped a finger on the air of his chair. Pike heard the ring on the mans hand striking the wood. Tink. Tink. Tink.

Finally, the man spoke. “I’m sending you home with a gift. Oh, and to show I always keep my word. Ms. Ravenscroft sill lives. However, if you do not immediately do as I ask, she will be killed.”

“Where is she?” Pike demanded.

The shadowed man snapped his finger. Another man–tall and thin–slapped a damp cloth over Pike’s face. The room and everyone in it faded away.

When Pike awoke for the second time, he lay on a familiar couch. Sunlight filtered in from the open door.

He was in the living room of his warehouse.

Pug stood over him, looking like a worried mother.

“Can you hear me?” Pug said.

“How long?” Pike said. His mouth felt as if he’d been gargling sand.

“Almost seven hours since we noticed you were missing. I got a call on my cell 45 minutes ago saying we’d find you here. You were snoozing on the couch.”

Pike’s thoughts were moving at a snail’s pace. Apparently two doses in a row of the Brotherhood’s knockout drug didn’t go down as smoothly as the single treatment. He’d be sure to mention that to his shadowy friend as soon as possible.

That would be the friend who mentioned a gift.

Pike tried to push himself to a sitting position. He raised a few inches from the cushion before his trembling arm gave away and he collapsed. Pug helped him to sit up.

“He said they were sending me home with something. Was there anything on me or on the floor or out front?”

“Oh, we found something,” Pug said.

He stepped aside to reveal a man standing in the doorway. One arm was in a sling and he leaned on a wooden cane.

“Howdy, partner. Rough night?”

Standing to the side of Pug was Early Helton, the pilot who had been gunned down in the jungle.

To Be Continued

© Mark Justice 2011

Another Apology

2011-11-27T16:26:00.002-05:00

Three months?

It's really been more than three months since I posted a chapter?

No one is more shocked than me.

Donovan Pike and the City of the Gods has always been a spare-time project for me, one that I did between the zillion other details of my life.

There hasn't been a lot of spare time in recent weeks. So I have to work a little harder at carving out the necessary window to work on Pike's story.

The latest chapter is posted below.

Thanks for sticking with Pike and me. We both appreciate it.

Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 21

2011-11-27T16:22:00.002-05:00

“What is it?” Pike said.

The young technician was nervous working in front of a lab full of visitors. He seemed especially anxious about the Maynard twins, stealing frequent glances at them and swallowing as he did. His Adam’s apple was the size of a walnut.

“It’s, uh, a stone hand,” he said.

Pike sighed. When his father was apart of the organization, the Ravenscroft laboratories had been among the premiere scientific investigation facilities in the world.

“We didn’t need a lab rat to tell us that,” Pug said.

“Is it part of a sculpture,” Pike said, “or is it some kind of fossil?”

“D-definitely fossil. But of what, I can’t say, not without further examination.”

That was what Elizabeth had basically told them earlier, insinuating that the giant six-fingered appendage was something that Brotherhood of the First had discovered in the recent past. After that, she clammed up. As far as Pike knew, she was roaming the hallways here, possibly making a call to her former Brotherhood cohorts.

Larry Bob Maynard loomed over the technician. “Whatchoo name, boy?”

The young lab worker swallowed again. “Doo-Doo-Dwayne,” he stuttered.

Larry Bob smiled. “Okay, Doo Doo, why don’t you get your ass movin’ on that further examination, yo?”

Dwayne nodded. He continued nodding as he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Finally, he said, “May I go to the restroom, sir?”

“Go ‘head, Doo Doo,” Larry Bob said. The lab tech fled the room, hunched over like a child who was about to mess his pants.

Pike shook his head. As amusing as his friend was, he couldn’t stay in the lab any longer. There were no answers here. He wasn’t any closer to finding Gemma than he had been in Mexico.

He followed Dwayne into the hall.

“Where you headed, boss?” Pug called after him.

“To get some air.” And to ask some questions.

Once in the hallway, he and the nervous technician went in opposite directions. Pike followed discreet signs that directed him to the stairwell. He had some thinking to do, and the laboratory’s roof seemed like a good place to do it.

His head fairly buzzed from a combination of sleeplessness and caffeine. He knew he wasn’t at his best, but there was no time to rest. Pike needed to be on the move, to search for Gemma. He also wanted some answers about his father, a subject that would have to wait.

From the stairs, he heard the metal door to the roof open and he looked up as a slim figure went through the opening.

Elizabeth.

Perfect. Pike was tired of waiting for something to develop. He didn’t trust the young woman and suspected she knew far more than she was sharing. It was time to press her for information.

He reached the door and yanked it open. Elizabeth leaned on the ledge, her back to him. Dawn was still hours away, but there was enough light from the half-moon to allow them to see each other.

She turned. “Donovan?”

“We have to talk.”

“This isn’t a great time.”

“It never is,” Pike said.

“No, this really isn’t a great time.”

The white-garbed figures must have been concealed behind the small structure that housed the stairwell. There were five of them, all armed with automatic weapons.

“You guys seriously need to upgrade your stealth wardrobe,” Pike said.

He lunged at the closest man, swinging from the hips, and drove his fist into the center of the face. He felt a satisfying crunch as the man’s nose collapsed under the mask. In the faint light, Pike saw a dark stain spreading across the white material, even as he pulled the moaning thug in front of him. He needed a shield against the guns of the Brotherhood, and the man with the flattened nose would have to do.

One of the larger men in white charged at Pike like a linebacker. He spread his arms and launched himself into the Pike’s human shield. All three men tumbled to the rough surface of the roof. It felt like a horse had fallen on Pike. He squirmed his way from beneath the pile. The thug with the flattened nose lay on his back and moaned. The bigger man struggled to his feet. Pike kicked him in the face. He collapsed again on top of the other guy.

The other three Brotherhood agents had their guns pointed at Pike.

Why didn’t they shoot?

“Come on, you bastards,” Pike said, just before the cloth slipped over his face. It was drenched in liquid, something he barely had time to register before his consciousness drifted away.

Well, hell, he thought as the darkness enveloped him.

To Be Continued

© Mark Justice 2011

Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 20

2011-08-18T15:21:00.003-04:00

It was dusk when they landed at Fort Meyers. Pug radioed ahead for transportation. One of Ravencroft’s big SUVs was parked on the runway. It was empty and the keys were inside.

Pug and Andre climbed in the front. Pike was in the back with Elizabeth, so they could continue their discussion from the flight home.

“It’s a waste of time,” she said. “I’ve been to that facility. There’s nothing there.”

Pike nodded.

“So you believe me?”

“Sure,” he said. “But I have to point out that Jimmy Swift told me the same thing about the Brotherhood place down in Mexico. Right before he turned to stone.” He smiled.

Elizabeth paled. She remained silent for the remainder of the drive to Pike’s residence.

After Pike cleared the security measures, the four of them entered the large warehouse. Pug and Andre headed to the armory.

“Where’s the bathroom?” Elizabeth said. She looked like she was going to be sick.

Pike gave her directions. After she took off, the sound of a big engine came from outside.

“They’re here,” Pug said.

In a moment, they were joined by the final two members of Pike’s crew, Travis Maynard and Larry Bob Maynard, jokingly called “the twins” because of their identical surnames. Travis was tall and black, and dressed like an accountant. Larry Bob was white, big as a barn, hailed from Geogia and wore more gold chains than a Rolls Royce full of rappers.

“Good to see you, Donovan,” Travis said.

“Word,” Larry Bob added.

Pike embraced both of them, then explained the situation. The five men were mostly silent as they loaded handguns and shotguns into the SUV and the classic Impala belonging to Larry Bob.

Elizabeth returned from the restroom just as the weapons were stowed away.

“Yo, little mama.” Larry Bob grinned at her, revealing four gold teeth. With her face scrunched up in disgust, she moved closer to Pike.

He introduced the pair.

“Am I staying here?” she said.

Pike shook his head. “We may need you there. After we secure the facility, we’ll bring you in.”

“Wait,” she said. “What if the brotherhood, uh, secures you?”

Larry Bob hefted his Pancor Jackhammer automatic shotgun. “Can’t happen, yo. We gone blow up they shit.”

Travis rolled his eyes. “Lord, help us.”

Pike and Pug laughed. Andre concentrated on sharpening his knives.

Pike herded them into the vehicles. He, Pug and Elizabeth took the SUV, while the rest rode in the Impala.

As they turned onto Dr. Martin Luther King Boulevard, Pug said, “Hey, boss, does it bother you that these Brotherhood yahoos have a base 20 miles from your door?”

“A little,” Pike said.

That was the sum total of the conversation until they reached the warehouse on Sanibel Island. It was smaller than Pike’s place, sitting in the middle of a block of similar structures within sight of the Sanibel lighthouse. Pug parked about fifty yards away. The Impala pulled in behind them.

“Stay here,” Pike said to Elizabeth. He had Pug leave the keys in the ignition. Pike and his four friends walked to the lighthouse.

“What if she runs off with the truck?” Pug said.

Pike shrugged. “You can sit on Larry Bob’s lap in the Impala.”

“He be like my ventriloquist dummy,” Larry Bob said. “He ‘bout the right size.”

“Bite me,” Pug said.

“The place looks empty,” Travis said.

“Yeah,” Pike said. “Maybe Elizabeth was right.”

“We find out,” Andre said. A long knife with a serrated blade was in his left hand.

“Maynards, you and Andre find the back door.” As they moved away, Pike and Pug approached the front of the structure. Two large garage doors faced the street. Between the big doors was a smaller metal door. A glass window was set in the upper half of the door.

“Got your pry bar?” Pike said.

“I never leave for a petty crime without it,” Pug said.

“This isn’t petty,” Pike said. “Bust it.”

Pug jabbed the metal bar against the glass. The first impact produced a large crack. The second blow knocked out most of the glass. Pug used the edge of the tool to clear the jagged piece from the bottom of the window. Pike slipped his arm through the opening and unlocked the door.

They both stood outside for a moment, waiting for the wail of an alarm.

“Maybe it’s silent,” Pug said. “Wired directly into the police precinct.”

“Oh, goody,” Pike said. They walked through the door. Pike found a panel of light switches on the wall near the entrance. As the large fluorescents came on, Andre, Larry Bob and Travis entered through the back door.

There was a small enclosed space against the rear left corner, probably an office. Otherwise, the warehouse was one big room.

The warehouse was empty, save for a table in the center of the space.

Travis sniffed the air. “They haven’t been gone long.”

Pike smelled cigarette smoke.

Pug stood next to the table. “Looks like they left us something.”

The others joined him. After staring at the object on the table for a long minute, Pike said, “Somebody get the girl.”

“I’ll do it,” Larry Bob said. “She into me.”

Nobody laughed.

In a minute, he returned with Elizabeth.

“What? Did you find something?” she said.

Pike stepped aside to give her an unobstructed view of the item on the table.

It was a stone hand. It might have been chopped from the arm of a very large statue. The hand was twice the size of Andre’s, and he possessed the biggest mitts among Pike’s crew.

The stone hand also had a thumb and five fingers. It ended in a jagged stump just below the wrist. The end of the stump showed bone and, Pike presumed, veins or arteries.

He thought of the way Jimmy Swift had died. If Pike had cut off Jimmy’s stone hand, it might have looked like this.

If Swift had been a six-fingered giant.

“Tell me that’s fake,” Travis said.

“No,” Elizabeth said. “It’s not”

To Be Continued

© Mark Justice 2011

Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 19

2011-07-19T14:47:00.001-04:00

Pike embraced his oldest friend.

“Good to see you, you old bulldog.”

“Aw, don’t get all sentimental on me,” Pug said. He stepped back from Pike, removed his ever-present Cincinnati Reds ball cap, and bowed in the direction of Elizabeth.

“And you, my dear, are a vision of loveliness. Percival Thaddeus Benson, at your service.”

“Percival?” She seemed perplexed by the short man.

“My mother drank,” he said with a shrug. “In any case, you don’t have to worry about hanging out with my backwards friend any more. Donovan has never been kissed, so he’s a little shy around the ladies. But have no fear; a real man has arrived.”

Elizabeth glanced at Pike, who rolled his eyes.

The passenger door of the chopper opened and Andre Romanov unfolded himself from the cabin. The tall man was the chef on Pike’s yacht, but he was also one of fiercest warriors Pike had ever fought alongside. Pike specifically recalled an incident in a seedy bar in Myanmar, when Andre dispatched four opponents with a broken beer bottle.

“Hey, Mister Pike,” Andre said. His eastern European accent was gradually fading, thanks to the influence of Pug.

Pike shook Andre’s hand. “Thank for the save, pal.”

“Pug did the driving,” Andre said. “I just shoot.”

“Good shooting,” Pike said. “Not to sound ungrateful, but what are you doing here?”

“We were bored,” Pug told him. “Sitting around Florida with nothing to do is fine if you’re, like, 90. I still have some friends at Ravencroft. They told me about Drake checkin’ in. So me and Andre caught a ride to Mexico.”

“Not on that,” Pike said, nodding toward the Apache.

“Naw. I, uh, borrowed a little jet from Ravencroft,” Pug said. “Hey, after the way they jumped us back in Somalia, they owe us.”

“Where did the chopper come from?”

“Oh, that,” Pug said. “See, there’s a Mexican girl who’s brother is in the military...”

Andre sighed loudly.

“...and she always told me if I was down this way and needed anything to give her a call.”

Pike turned to Elizabeth. “He wasn’t joking about being a ladies man.”

The petite archeologist stared at Pike’s short companion with something like amazement etched upon her pretty face.

“Oh, and boss,” Pug added, “we’ll need to reimburse the brother for the ordinance.”

Pike shook his head. He wasn’t a Ravenscroft, but thanks to his father, he had access to a good chunk of the family fortune as part of his inheritance. He also had to admit that the military chopper had come in very handy.

“Anything you need to pick up before we take off?” As Pug spoke, he kept his eyes of the demolished house. “I’d like to get out of here before I have to see–well, shit.”

Pike followed his gaze. Drake walked across the lawn toward them. His face and sling were blackened with soot, but his posture was ramrod straight.

Elizabeth stepped behind Pike. She gripped his shoulders and tried to make herself appear small.

“It’s okay,” Pike said. “He won’t hurt you.”

“But I saw him kill that man.”

Drake stopped in front of them. He looked first at Pug, then Andre. A thin smile twisted the corners of his mouth.

Andre raised his fist, which clenched a knife with a long serrated blade. “Let me give you a bigger smile, govniuk.”

“That’s Mr. Govniuk to you,” Drake said.

Pug glanced at Elizabeth. “Why is she cowering from tall, old and crewcut here? He threaten to kiss her?”

“She says she watched him murder Jimmy Swift,” Pike said.

“Jimmy? The mook who never won a hand a poker?” Pug narrowed his eyes. “You killed an old poker buddy, Drake.”

“Nope,” Drake said. “Not me.”

“He’s lying,” Elizabeth said from her place of sanctuary behind Pike.

Drake didn’t respond.

“Well?” Andre waved the knife at Drake. “You got something to say?”

“Yep.” Drake walked past them in the direction of the road. “Adios.”

“Where’s he going?” Pug said. “It ain’t like there’s a motel close by.”

“I don’t care,” Pike said. “I need to get back to Florida.”

“We can make that happen. What’s on the agenda?”

Pike started in the direction of the chopper. Elizabeth trailed him like a shadow.

“We’re going to make a house call on the Brotherhood of the First.”

To Be Continued

© Mark Justice 2011

Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 18

2011-06-16T10:13:00.000-04:00

A split second before the wall exploded Pike grabbed Elizabeth’s wrist and pulled her into the hallway.

He’d instantly recognized the signature flash of a helicopter-launched missile. This was a military attack, or an assault by someone with access to military weapons.

His ears rang from the explosion, and the back of his neck stung from some kind of shrapnel. There was no time to check it now. He towed the petite archeologist through the hall. Behind them, there was another explosion. Several framed photographs fell from the walls. Plaster dust from the ceiling coated their heads like snow.

“Nugget won’t be happy about this,” he said. His voice sounded like it was coming from under water.

“What?” Elizabeth said.

Whoever was attacking them intended to bring down the whole house. Pike would have to take his chances outside.

They made their way to the mansion’s foyer. Explosions shook the entire structure. Next to the front door one of Jiminez’s men lay unconscious or dead. A large metal shield, like something out of a Roman gladiator movie, had fallen from the wall onto his head.

Pike knelt to check his pulse. The man was gone. Reaching under the dead man’s jacket, Pike removed a gun. It was a Sig Sauer P220 Combat model with a 10-round magazine. It wasn’t much against missile-firing helicopters but it would have to do.

Pike threw open the door. The sun’s harsh glare was in sharp contrast to the rumbling explosions behind the house and the cacophonous thumping of the chopper blades. He pulled Elizabeth out of the house.

“We can’t stay here,” he said.

“What?”

He spoke louder. “We have to go. We’re going to run to the jungle, okay?”

She nodded.

With the enemy choppers concentrating on the back of the house, they would have to take an indirect route to cover. Pike would head for the road, then enter the jungle slightly north of where he and Drake had first stumbled onto Jiminez’s property.

“Let’s go.” He released Elizabeth’s hand and they ran.

They had covered less than 40 yards when one of the choppers sailed over the house. The road was at least two hundred yards away. Pike stuck out an arm to stop Elizabeth. He turned and fired at the chopper. One shot cracked the cowling in front of the pilot before the man nosed the craft up. Pike’s other shots bounced harmlessly off the undercarriage.

“Come on,” he said.

They ran toward a long detached carport. The sides were open to the air, but the roof was metal and might offer some protection.

Unless the chopper launched a Hellfire missile at them.

There were only two vehicles parked under the carport: a Mercedes SUV and a Bentley Continental Supersports convertible. Jiminez’s other transportation must have been stored somewhere else. If they were behind the house, they were probably already gone.

“Notice anything about that helicopter?”

“It was white,” Elizabeth said. “Do you think it’s the Brotherhood of the First?”

Pike nodded. “I think whoever killed Swift called in the air strike.”

“Your friend?”

“For the last time, Drake is not my friend,” Pike said. “Let’s get behind the SUV. Try to keep it between you and the chopper.”

They heard the Brotherhood’s helicopter hovering overhead. Then came the chattering of automatic gunfire. Bullets pierced the carport’s roof and shredded the top of the small convertible.

“Slide under the truck,” Pike ordered.

They both crawled under the SUV. Elizabeth fit easily. The space was cramped for Pike’s large frame, but he made it.

Once again, gunfire rained down on the carport. He heard the metal tearing into the roof of the SUV.

“What are we going to do?” Elizabeth said.

Pike wasn’t sure. He only knew that if was going to die it wouldn’t be on his back, hiding under a drug lord’s Mercedes.

When the gunfire ceased, he said, “Stay here.”

He pulled himself out from under the truck and climbed to his feet. He checked the magazine of the Sig Sauer. Six shots remained. If he chose his targets carefully, he might be able to do some damage. He stepped out of the carport’s cover just as the sound of the chopper blades doubled.

Both Brotherhood choppers were hovering over his position. They looked like Russian KA-52s, the attack helicopter of the air force there. Both were painted white. Pike couldn’t see any more missiles. Maybe all of the heavy stuff had been used on the house.

One of the KA-52s came closer to the ground. The cowling in front of the pilot was unmarked. So this was the second craft. Pike waved a hand in greeting and smiled. Two men were in the craft. One pilot and one weapons man, he guessed.

“Hey! How’s it going?” Pike shouted.

Then he raised the Sig Sauer P220 and emptied it into the pilot’s cabin. The cowling starred, then shattered. The gunner slumped in the seat. Pike saw blood spread across the chest of his white jumpsuit.

The pilot yanked the stick, and the chopper rose into the sky.

Pike tossed the empty gun away as the other helicopter opened fire again.

But the gunfire instantly stopped.

Pike heard the roar of an engine and felt the vibrations of another helicopter rotor. He shielded his eyes with his hand and looked to the north.

The new arrival was a black AgustaWestland Apache, the British version of the U.S. Army’s AH-64. The Apache fired a missile. The Brotherhood chopper vanished in a ball of flames.

Pike stepped back under the flimsy protection of the carport as metal and flaming fuel and body parts fell to earth.

He heard the distinctive sound of the other KA-52 growing fainter. The other Brotherhood pilot was fleeing.

The black Apache landed lightly on the expansive front lawn. When the rotors stopped turning, the pilot’s door opened.

The man was short, but built like a fireplug. An unlit cigar was clenched between his teeth.

He removed the stogie and smiled at Pike.

Pug Benson said, “Boss, is this a good time to ask for a raise?”

To Be Continued

© Mark Justice 2011

Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 17

2011-06-13T10:05:00.000-04:00

Pike touched Swift’s shoulder. The shirt had the texture of rough stone.

Pike, a man who spent his life in perpetual motion, was stumped. This was beyond anything in his experience.

Seconds earlier, Swift had been alive and providing useful information. What happened in the brief time Pike was out of the room?

Drake stepped through the open doorway, adjusting the sling on his wounded arm.

“What’s the hell is this?”

Pike turned to face him. “Where were you? I told you to watch him?”

“Just a minute. You told me not to let him leave. I had to take a leak, so I cuffed him to the table.”

Pike ran a hand over his short, black hair. He heard commotion from another part of the house. Footsteps were headed his way.

Drake moved closer to the thing that had once been Swift. He leaned forward and studied the texture of the remains. “Looks like stone.”

“Thanks,” Pike said. “Big help. Really.”

Drake ignored him. “What could do this to a man?”

That was the question that gnawed at Pike. “You didn’t run into a woman with snakes for hair?”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.”

Someone had done this to Jimmy Swift. Someone in this house. But how had it been done? Was it a disease? Another futuristic weapon?

“I am tired of this damn Brotherhood,” Pike said.

Two men stepped into the room. Once was a bodyguard Pike had never seen. He was nearly seven feet tall. The other was Jiminez.

“What have you done?” Jiminez said.

“I didn’t do that,” Pike said, poiting a thumb in the direction of Swift’s granite-like corpse.

When he saw the shock of Jiminez’s face, Pike realized Nugget had not been talking about Swift.

“Madre de Dios.”

“I saw who did it.”

They all turned to the voice in the hallway. Elizabeth Crassberg stepped forward. Her skin was pale and her eyes were wide with fear. She pointed a trembling finger at Drake.

“He did it.”

Drake’s left eyebrow raised a quarter inch, but he otherwise did not react.

“He did what?” Pike said.

“He killed him. The man who saved me.” A sob broke from Elizabeth’s throat, and she covered her face with her hands.

Pike stared at Drake. “Well?”

“She’s wrong. She’s making it up or she mistook someone else for me.”

“You’ve always been a dick,” Pike said, “but a traitor...”

Drake made a noise that might have been a chuckle. It sounded like a rusted hasp on a ancient door. “If you’re worried that someone here works for the Brotherhood, then why not take a look at the gal that, you know, actually works for the Brotherhood?”

Jiminez cleared his throat. “This is very heart-warming, amigos, but I have a bigger problem.”

Pike heard the unmistakable thump of rotors. Choppers. At least two, maybe more.

“Who is that?”

“You tell me,” Jiminez said. “Your friend uses my phone and we have incoming. Is it your people? DEA? My competition?”

“He’s not my friend,” Pike said.

The choppers moved fast. The vibration from the rotors could be felt in Pike’s chest.

Outside the window of the football room he saw a flash like the lighting of a very bright flare. He instantly knew it was far more dangerous than simple illumination.

“Move!” he shouted.

The window and surrounding wall collapsed with a thunderous roar.

To Be Continued

© Mark Justice 2011

Start Looking

2011-05-01T16:04:00.000-04:00

My collection Looking at the World With Broken Glass in My Eye is now available for pre-order from Graveside Tales. For a limited time, as they say on TV, the book is only $13.95.

It's over 100,000 words of chills (with the occasional chuckle thrown in). It's reprints the sold-out Deadneck Hootenanny (thus the chuckles) and includes two previously unpublished novellas.

Get your copy by heading over here.

Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 16

2011-04-26T17:29:00.001-04:00

In less than an hour, they were back at Jiminez’s compound, in the big room with the football memorabilia.

Jimmy Swift sat in one of the leather chairs, drinking from a mug of hot coffee. He winced with every sip.

“Got a cut on the inside of my lip,” he said.

“I’ll cry myself to sleep,” Pike said. He sat on the couch across from Swift.

The house was quiet. Elizabeth was nearly hysterical. Jiminez had given her some kind of pill and she was lying down in one of the many bedrooms in the massive house. Somewhere else in the mansion, Smith was being treated by Nugget’s personal physician–quite against his wishes. His boss had insisted.

Drake was in another room, using the satellite phone to make travel arrangements with the Ravenscroft people. When they got a line on Gemma, Pike wanted to be free to take off as soon as possible.

“Where is she?”

“I already told you I don’t know,” Swift said.

“I don’t believe you, Jimmy.”

“Christ, Pike. I’m not lying.”

“Smith wants to kill you. You get that, right?”

“The guy I shot?” Swift smiled.

“I might be able to talk him out of it. Or talk his boss out of it. Jiminez owes me.”

“Whatever. He wants to kill me. You want to kill me. The Brotherhood will definitely kill me when they found out I brought the chick to you. What difference does it make?”

“I don’t get you, Jimmy. You told me you were getting out.”

Smith shrugged. “I was, but something came up. It included a nice bonus and I, ah, owe some money to a certain pushy guy.”

“What was the job?” Pike said.

“Muscle, like always. The Brotherhood has a warehouse on Isla Mujeres, right off the coast. I was supposed to guard the place. I waited around by myself for a day or so, then all these choppers landed, with a couple of prisoners.”

“Gemma?”

“I guess,” Swift said, “but I didn’t see her. The guy in charge was a real asshole named Gustav.”

“We’ve met,” Pike said.

Swift nodded. “So you know. That’s why I keep my distance. They put somebody in a little room at the back of the warehouse. I know one of the chopper pilots. He filled me in on what happened. That’s how I knew about you. In less than an hour, the choppers took off again, leaving me alone. I busted the lock on the room and took a look around. That’s when I found the other broad.”

“Elizabeth.”

“Whatever. I was bringing her back to you, buddy. Maybe she overheard something that will help.”

“You did it out of the goodness of your heart, huh?”

“Hey, I’m tired of all the secrets and weird shit. It’s like being in a cult or something. I thought if I helped out, you could put a good word in for me with Ravenscroft and maybe I could get my old job back.”

Pike stared at Swift for a moment before he replied.

“Back in Florida you mentioned some kind of weapon the Brotherhood had. Was it the black light gizmo?”

Swift grinned. “You saw that?”

“Twice,” Pike said.

“Ain’t that crazy? Like some kinda Martian ray gun.”

“So that was the secret weapon?”

“No way, man. That’s like a tinker toy compared to some of the other stuff they have.”

Icy tendrils seemed to crawl over Pike’s scalp. “Like what?”

“Nope.” Jimmy Swift crossed his arms over his chest. “I can’t give you everything, man. Then you’ll just let that Smith dude shoot me.”

“I won’t let him shoot you, Jimmy.”

“You won’t?”

“No,” Pike said. “I think he wants to beat you to death.”

“Nice. So that’s it?”

“Maybe not, if you get me to this warehouse.”

Swift shook his head. “Waste of time, man. The Brotherhood won’t be there. They’ve got, like, a million of those places. And they’re the most paranoid bunch I’ve ever seen. They’re always moving around, sending out coded instructions, secret passwords, the whole deal.”

“How?” Pike said.

“How what?”

“The coded instruction. How do they get them to you?”

Swift nodded to coffee table. His pockets had been cleaned out. The only thing he had carried was a couple of hundred dollars in a money clip and a Blackberry. Both were on the table.

“Text message.”

Drake came through the door, his usual smirk plastered across his face. “Talked to Florida.”

“The state?” Pike said. “Did you tell them I said hi?”

Drake ignored him. “A jet will be at Cancun in four hours.”

Pike considered that. It would be good to have a destination in mind. He turned to Swift.

“Last chance, Jimmy. I need a location. Someplace to get a line on the Brotherhood.”

Swift shook his head. “I don’t know, man. I hear stuff. There’s supposed to be a lab in the Rockies somewhere. And the head dude has a castle or something in Europe.”

“What about the London headquarters?”

“That place? It’s for the tourists. They hand out brochures and stuff. Other than the place in Florida, I’m not sure–”

Pike stopped him. “What place?”

“It’s a lab, where they work out the bugs in the stuff they find. Two big buildings. The other is a barracks and training facility for their foot soldiers.”

“Where is it?”

“On Sanibel Island.”

One of Jiminez’s men opened the door and gestured to Pike. “Senor, you have a call. Someone named Pug. He said it was muy importante .”

“Drake, don’t let him leave.” Pike pointed at Swift.

He followed the Mexican down the hall, to a small alcove with an old fashioned rotary phone. Why the hell wouldn’t Pug call him on the satellite phone? He lifted the receiver.

“Yeah?”

He heard only a hum and the crackle of static.

“Pug?”

When there was no answer, he hung up and turned around. Jiminez’s man was gone. Pike headed back to what he thought of as the football room.

“Okay, Jimmy, you’re going with us.”

He paused. Drake was gone. Swift’s wrist was handcuffed to the leg of a heavy table next to the leather chair. But whoever handcuffed him needn’t have bothered. Swift wasn’t going anywhere.

Jimmy Swift gazed sightlessly in Pike’s direction. His skin had the look and consistency of gray stone. He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t breathing.

Jimmy Swift was a statue.

To Be Continued

© Mark Justice 2011

Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 15

2011-04-01T12:07:00.001-04:00

From the van, the man dressed in white swung the cylinder at them swiftly, pouring forth the destructive black beam. There was no way to outrun the light.

“Down,” Pike said. “Hug the ground.”

Pike planted himself as flat as he could against the earth. The thick, black dirt smelled of jungle, which the area had been a couple of decades earlier. The right side of his faces pressed into the shells that surrounded the shrubbery. With his left eye, he followed the progress of the black beam.

It passed mere inches above Pike’s head. This close, the texture of the light was odd. It was glossy, like a sheen of oil on concrete. He hoped it wasn’t going to be the last thing he ever saw.

The black light cut through the shrubbery cleanly, raining leaves and thin branches onto Pike’s head.

He heard Jimmy Swift curse. The sound came from a few feet behind him and to the right.

“Smith?”

“Here,” the man’s said, from Pike’s left. By pulling his head toward his chin, Pike could see the top of Smith’s head.

“Don’t let Swift get away.”

“Si.” Smith sounded happy.

“And don’t kill him.”

“Si.”

“At least until I talk to him.”

Smith chuckled. It was an evil little sound.

“Pike, where the hell are you going?” Swift sounded understandably nervous.

Pike didn’t answer. He crouched low to the ground and scrambled toward the road. Within a few yards, he was past the arc of the black light. The man wielding the weapon couldn’t reach Pike without cutting through his own van.

The surviving Federales found cover between vehicles and the rubble of the resort. They opened fire on the van.

Great. He was out of range of the weird ray gun, but now stray shots flew over his head.

When he reached the road, Pike moved until the bulk of the dark van was between his body and the Federales. He sprinted for the van.

The driver must have seen him. A gunshot shattered the passenger window. The bullet missed him, but small shards of glass cut Pike’s cheek and lip. He flattened his body against the side of the van. The metal hummed and vibrated from the black light weapon. Pike wondered about the weapon’s power source and how long it could fire.

A hand holding a gun poked out of the wrecked passenger window. Pike knew he was visible in the passenger side mirror, so it was only a second or two before the driver could shoot. With the black beam spewing death on the other side of the van, and the gunfire of the Federales peppering the van, Pike had few options.

Pike grabbed the hand and the gun. He pulled. The driver’s face slammed into the top of the door frame. The man was Caucasian, dressed in a white jumpsuit like the other members of the Brotherhood. Still holding the man’s gun hand, Pike drove a fist into the center of the driver’s face. The man dropped the gun and slumped back across the seat.

Pike opened the passenger door. The back of the van was filled with unidentifiable machinery. The loudest noise came from a box the size and shape of a large generator. From the front of the box, a thick silver tube connected to the base of the cylinder that fired the black beam. The second white-garbed man was focused on using the weapon to destroy the remaining cops.

“Nice suit,” Pike said. “Way to blend into the night.”

The man with the weapon whipped his heard around to look at Pike. Recognition filled his eyes.

“You,” he said.

“Me.” Pike fired the driver’s gun. The shot hit the man in the right shoulder. He looked vaguely familiar to Pike. Maybe he was an ex-Ravenscroft employee who had defected along with Jimmy Swift.

More shots poured in through the van’s open side door. The man Pike had shot was hit several more times.

“Give me the ray gun and I’ll get you a doctor,” Pike said.

“You’ll...never stop us,” the man said. Bright red stains flowered on his white uniform. He turned the cylindrical weapon toward Pike...

...and kept going until it was pointed at the bank of machinery. The black light arced from the tube and sliced through the equipment.

Pike pushed himself out of the van. He ran for the street.

The explosion lifted him from his feet and pushed him through the air. He crossed his arms over his face and tried to go limp. He struck the pavement with his arms first, then his chest. The air was forced out of his lungs. Something sharp and hot landed on his back. He had enough sense to move his hands to protect the back of his head.

Someone took him by the arms and pulled him to his feet. Pike’s vision was blurred, but he could make out the figures of Miguel Smith and Jimmy Smith.

And he could clearly see the flaming remains of the van. Most of the vehicle’s body was gone, along with the Brotherhood’s mysterious weapon.

To Be Continued

© Mark Justice 2011

Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 14

2011-01-15T22:29:00.002-05:00

Pike pulled Jimmy Swift to his feet and jammed the barrel of his pistol into the center of the larger man’s back.

“March,” Pike said. “I want to be out of hear before the Federales arrive.”

“Fat chance,” Swift said. It came out as Bat chance.

They climbed the steps to the resort. At the top, Jiminez’s man was standing, albeit weakly, and leaning against the railing.

“You’re alive,” Pike said.

“I’m a tough little wetback,” the man said in Harvard-accented English.

“Not so little,” Pike said. “What’s your name?”

“Miguel Smith.”

“Smith? You’re kidding.”

“That’s what everybody says.” Smith pointed his gun at Swift. “Is this the bastardo who shot me?”

“Yep.”

Smith lifted his pistol in preparation to strike it across Swift’s nose.

Swift covered his face with his hands. “Not the nose! Not the nose!”

“Later,” Pike said. “We have to get out of here. The police...”

“Won’t be a problem,” Smith said. The three of them walked through the resort, back to the lobby. Smith kept up pretty well for a man with a gunshot wound. Sirens were sounding as they started back, growing closer, and finally dying out. Law enforcement had arrived at the Imperial Laguna.

By the time the lobby came into sight, the sky was throbbing with red and blue lights. Many of the resort’s occupants were standing on their balconies or peering through their glass patio doors.

“So, is there another way out of here?” Pike said. “We could never slip past them, not with the way you look.” Smith’s shirt and jacket were stained with blood.

“You’re right. No one would believe such a handsome native would be hanging out with two such ugly gringos. But, really, it won’t be an issue.”

Two Federales, sub-machine guns hanging from their shoulders, crouched over the body of Jiminez’s other man. One of them looked up as Pike and the other two men approached. He whispered to his companion and pointed. Both officers stood and unlimbered their weapons.

“Stay here,” Smith said. His pistol stashed under his jacket, he walked toward the two Federales. One hand was raised in the air, the other held his side.

“This day sucks,” Swift said. Sucks came out as suds.

“Jimmy, if they arrest us, I swear to God I’m punching you in the nose again before they cuff me.”

Swift stayed quiet.

Smith returned to them. The two cops stood talking to each other.

“Come on,” Smith said. “We can leave.”

“How did that happen?”

“I’ll explain later.”

The three of them climbed the steps to the lobby, where more Federales stood. Most of them smoked cigarettes and ignored Pike, Smith and Swift. When they reached the parking lot, they found several Mexican Federal Police trucks and more officers smoking and trying not to pay attention to them.

Smith pulled a cell phone from his pocket. He spoke into it for maybe two seconds.

“The car is on the way,” he said.

“So how come we’re not on our way to jail?”

“Mr. Jiminez is very generous to many of our government institutions.”

“Right,” Pike said. “And what about your late friend in there?”

“Mr. Jiminez will pay for a nice funeral and supply his family with a healthy stipend.”

“What about me?” Swift said.

“We’re gong to have a nice conversation, Jimmy, and pretty damn soon,” Pike said.

“Let me talk to him,” Smith said. “I won’t take very long.”

“Easy, buddy,” Pike said. “I think you need a hospital first.”

As they spoke, a black van pulled up in front of the resort. Pike noticed it, primarily because it wasn’t their limo. It was probably the Mexican version of crime scene techs.

The van’s side door opened, and Pike saw a man dressed in a white jumpsuit. Yeah, a crime scene guy.

The man in white picked up a metal tube. The design looked familiar. The man placed it on his shoulder like a rocket launcher.

That was odd.

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Eventually, sparks flashed from the tip of the cylinder.

Black sparks.

Pike knew why he recognized the design.

“Run,” he told the others. “Move your asses.”

He grabbed Swift’s arm and jogged for the topiary at the edge of the drive. Smith was close behind.

“Tell your cops to get out of the way,” Pike said.

Smith shouted something in Spanish. It was too late.

Black lightning roared from the cylinder, followed a dark shaft of light. The light sliced through three of the Federales, cutting them in half. The lower halves of their bodies stood for a moment, as if refusing to acknowledge the end. Then the body parts tumbled to the asphalt, spilling fluids and ropey loops of intestines to the hard surface.

The beam continued to the front of the Imperial Laguna, cutting a swath of destruction through the structure. The path of the black wave of death changed. It moved in the direction of Pike, Smith and Swift.

“You’re right,” Pike said to Swift.

“Huh?”

“This day sucks.”

To Be Continued

© Mark Justice 2011

Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 13

2011-01-13T18:08:00.002-05:00

“Get her back to the chopper,” Pike told Donovan. He didn’t stick around to see if Drake did it.

Pike ran full out, his gun in his right hand. He was already behind the curve in the situation, and if Gemma was in the resort, he wasn’t going to stop until he found her.

He sprinted up the steps to the lobby. The portico opened up into a huge, room with an exquisite marble floor. To the left was a massive counter that must have been sixty feet long. If there was a concierge on duty at three in the morning, he had found a hiding space when the shooting began. The right side of the room was devoted to a bar. There were dozens of tables, and soft music played from speakers mounted in the ceiling. There was no one present here, either.

There was no back wall to the lobby, just open space that provided a view of the hotel rooms and a pool that apparently wound its way through the resort. A dozen steps led down to the edge of the pool. One of Jiminez’s goons – the one who hadn’t spoken – lay on the concrete, curled into a fetal position. Pike didn’t stop to check on him. Another gunshot spurred him on.

The sound of the shot echoed off the concrete walls of the guest quarters, making it difficult to tell how far away it was. So Pike took a straight path, east toward the ocean. The resort grounds were illuminated by streetlights that were constructed to look like Mayan statues.

He ran for more than a quarter mile, though it seemed longer, thanks to the detours he had to take to get around that damned labyrinthine pool. Finally, he reached the edge of the resort property. The concrete turned to sand, and a set of wooden stairs gave access to a beach. Jiminez’s other man, the one who spoke English sat at the top of the steps, leaning against the railing support. He held his left hand against his side. Even in the pale moonlight, Pike could see a lot of blood around the wound and spattering the sand. The man’s eyes were closed and his chin rested on his chest.

Pike knelt next to him. He realized he had never asked the man’s name.

“Hey, you okay?”

The man slowly lifted his head. “Sure, never better,” he said.

He spoke so softly Pike had trouble making out the words.

The man cleared his throat and when he spoke again, his voice had a little more volume.

‘It’s one guy. White man. American, I think. Got a Glock. He ran down those stairs a couple of minutes ago.”

Pike nodded. He didn’t have time for words of comfort, and he didn’t believe the wounded man desired them. He followed the steps down to the beach.

It was a private beach, as it turned out. Beach chairs were stacked by the dozens at the top of a small rise of sand. Below, the Atlantic rolled in and out with a soft, pleasant roar.

There was movement to the right, about 40 yards away. A shadowy figure was tugging at something next to a stack of pedal boats, the kind of plastic contraption Mom and Dad could take out in calm waters to give the kids a ride in the ocean. The man pulled a rubber raft away from the pile of pedal boats. It had a small motor attached. He must have used it to come ashore with Elizabeth, then hid the boat from sight, in case anyone patrolled the beach.

The man used both hands to tug the rubber boat toward the water, so the gun must be stuck in a holster on in the waistband of his pants.

Pike ran again. The soft sand and the ocean’s murmuring masked his footfalls.

The dark figure was at the tide line when Pike stopped six feet away, gun raised.

“Freeze!”

The man raised his hands. There wasn’t enough moonlight to make out his features, but he was larger than Pike.

“Who are you? Where is Gemma Ravenscroft?”

“Well, hell,” the man said. He talked like he was suffering from a bad cold. Yet the voice sounded familiar.

“Who are you?” Pike stepped closer, and the big man jumped on him.

Pike couldn’t shoot him, not if he had any information about Gemma. Pike landed on his back with the other man on top of him.

Pike’s gun hand was free. He swung the barrel into the other man’s face.

“Shit!” The man rolled off Pike and covered his face with both hands. “Not the nose again! Jesus!”

A cloud moved away from the moon and there was enough light for Pike to see his opponent clearly.

The man who brought Elizabeth to the resort, the man who had vowed he was out of this, was Pike’s old pal Jimmy Swift.

To be Continued

© Mark Justice 2011

Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 12

2011-01-08T20:04:00.003-05:00

“It’s a trap,” Drake said.

“Probably,” Pike said. They were speaking into the microphones of the headsets they had to wear in the chopper. Even with the earphones, the drone of the engine was nearly overwhelming. “Even if it is a trap, it may be a chance to get Gemma back. I have to try. But you didn’t have to come.”

Drake merely smiled.

Two of Jimemez’s men sat behind them. The drug lord’s personal pilot flew the chopper. He wouldn’t take part in the rescue. The co-pilot’s seat was empty. Pike hoped that space would be occupied by Gemma in just a while. He looked at his watch. 2:40. Pike tapped the pilot on the shoulder.

“Are we going to make it?”

“Si,” the pilot said. He was a small man, younger than Pike had expected. Apparently used to flying with armed men, the man was as calm as if he were riding a golf cart on the back nine.

“Is it me, or does this crate still smell like chicken nuggets?” Drake said.

Pike just looked at him.

“So sue me. I’m hungry again.”

The lights of Cancun came into view. The chopper set down on a rooftop. Pike, Drake and Jimemez’s two men quickly exited.

“Where are we?” Pike said.

One of the other men answered in perfect English. “On a building that belongs to Mister Jimemez. About two blocks from our destination.”

They took an elevator to the lobby. A dark limousine waited for them at the curb.

Pike checked the time again. 2:53.

The limo dropped them off in front of the hotel next to the Imperial Laguna. All the resorts looked the same to Pike, like something a McDonald’s architect thought Mexico should be.

It was 2:58. Pike and Drake moved to one side of the Imperial Laguna’s front drive. The other two men covered the opposite side.

At exactly 3:00 A.M. a woman was shoved out of the dark opening of the lobby. She stumbled across the parking lot, her head and face shrouded in shadows.

Drake pointed a gun a the parking and said, “Go.”

Pike ran, his own gun in his hand. He knew this could be a set up and that he was exposing himself to enemy gunfire, but he didn’t see any other way.

As he neared the woman, he said, “Gemma.”

The woman took a step forward and her head was illuminated by one of the resort’s streetlights.

Her hair was red, but it was a shade or two lighter than Gemma’s. He recognized her face.

“Elizabeth?”

Elizabeth Crassberg, the Brotherhood archeologist, looked at Pike as if she didn’t recognize him. There was a large bruise on the left aside of her face. Her eyes were wide, scared.

With his free hand, Pike grabbed one of her wrists.

“Where’s Gemma?”

Elizabeth moaned and twisted in his grip.

“It’s me, Pike. Calm down. You’re safe now.” Of course, she wasn’t. Neither of them were, standing in the open drive with no shelter. One of Jimemez’s men approached, the one who spoke English.

“What do you need?” he said

“Someone shoved her out here. See if you can find him.”

The man nodded and gestured to his colleague. Both men entered the lobby.

As if she had surrendered to her fate, Elizabeth stopped her resistance. She allowed herself to be led to the side of the resort’s entrance.

“Where’s Gemma?” Drake said.

“I don’t know. I hope she can tell us.”

“Who brought her here? Don’t tell me this brotherhood has its headquarters in a damn resort.”

Pike started to answer.

Until he heard the gunshots from the resort.

To be Continued

© Mark Justice 2011

Meanwhile...

2011-01-08T20:02:00.001-05:00

Hi. If you’ve been here before, welcome back. If this is your first exposure to Donovan Pike, thanks for dropping by.

Donovan Pike and the City of the Gods is a pulp adventure novel I began writing last year. It is a work in progress, not a case of pasting in chapters of a novel I have previously completed. I write each installment shortly before it’s posted.

And as you can easily tell, it’s been a while since I wrote a new chapter.

Several events in 2010 derailed my writing output. In 2011, I’m fighting to catch up, move past the things that delayed me in the past and make some progress. If you’re interested in reading a tiny bit more about my last year and my hopes for 2011, I talked about it here.

For what it’s worth, I am committed to finishing Donovan Pike and the City of the Gods. Writing it has been a blast. I will continue to post chapters as often as I can.

Using my time more wisely is a big priority this year. That’s one of the reason I’ve discontinued the Donovan Pike podcast. I know that disappoints a few of you, who have told me that you prefer to listen to the story. If my bucking bronc of a schedule is ever under control, I’ll consider resuming the podcast. Until then, I hope you’ll be satisfied with just the written word.

Thanks for your time. Let’s get back to the action.

Donovan Pike Podcast--Chapter 11

2010-10-17T14:26:00.000-04:00

Click to listen.

Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 11

2010-10-17T14:22:00.002-04:00

Pike and Drake rode separately in the back of different Hummers. The owner of that tortured bullfrog voice was ahead of them in the third vehicle.

A large Mexican man with a Beretta 93R automatic pistol sat sideways in the passenger seat, keeping the barrel pointed at Pike. No one spoke, and that was fine with him. He was trying to come up with a way to rescue Gemma.

The ride was short and the vehicles carrying Pike and Drake stopped side by side on a circular drive at the back of the house. Thanks to the spotlights, the entirety of the structure was visible. The size was even more impressive up close. There were many little flourishes -- gold filagree inlaid around the windows and the back door – that struck Pike as tacky. Knowing now who the owner was, Pike wasn’t surprised.

The brute with the Beretta motioned for Pike to get out. He obeyed, and found himself standing next to Drake.

“I was hoping they would drive you back to the jungle,” Pike said.

“Me too.”

A skinny man from Drake’s Hummer rapped on the door and it opened. Pike and Drake were led down a brightly lit hallway, decorated with framed photographs, jerseys and other memorabilia of American football.

“Who is this guy?” Drake said.

Their walk ended in a large room, cooled by silent air conditioning. Expensive leather furniture was arranged in a semi-circle in the room’s center. More football keepsakes were on the walls and bookshelves. In the corner of the room, a football sat atop a gold pedestal on a large wooden desk.

The door closed behind them. Pike didn’t hear a lock click. Not that it mattered. He didn’t plan to escape. Not until he got to a phone.

Drake lifted the football and slowly turned it in his hands, studying the writing on its pebbled surface.

“Super Bowl II,” Drake said. “He’s got Bart Starr’s autograph.”

He almost sounded impressed.

“Great. You two will have lots to talk about.”

The door opened. The big man with the Beretta from the Hummer came in first, followed by a short, fat man with skin the color of milk chocolate.

“It was the first football game I remember watching,” the fat man said. “I paid a lot for that ball.”

He waved the big man away. “It’s okay, Miguel. If they try to leave, shoot them.”

The fat man sat down hard in a big chair. He indicated that Pike and Drake should take seats on the couch across from him.

He gave Pike a menacing look, then collapsed in laughter. When he got his breathing under control he said, “You should see your face.”

“It would be better than what I’m looking at now.”

“Pike, it is good to see you.”

“You too, Nugget.”

Drake raised an eyebrow but didn’t speak.

With a grunt, the fat man leaned forward, extending a hand to Drake. Drake shook with his good hand.

“Pablo Edgardo Jimenez.”

“Drake.”

“You a friend of Pike?”

“No.”

Jimenez laughed again.

“This is something I can understand.”

“Stop it,” Pike said, “before you make me cry.”

“Still a badass. I could have used you on my crew back in East L.A.”

“You’re American?” Drake said.

“Nugget was a gangbanger,” Pike said. “Now he runs one of the world’s biggest drug cartels from Southern Mexico.”

“Far away from the prying eyes of your DEA,” Jimenez said.

“Your DEA, too.”

“Local officials are easier to bribe here, too.”

“Nobody knows how Nugget managed to get from Lincoln Heights to his current position.”

“I know,” Jimenez said with a large smile.

A helicopter approached the property, growing louder as it landed near the house. Jimenez didn’t seem concerned. The conversation halted until the engine shut off.

“How do you know each other?” Drake said.

Jimenez looked at Pike for a moment.

“I saved his life.”

“After I saved yours, Nugget.”

“Some smugglers interfered with my, ah, distribution network.”

“They were smuggling Aztec artifacts,” Pike said. “I was trying to stop them.”

“Loco hombres. They thought they could get rid of us.”

“They almost did,” Pike said.

“But I fed them to my pigs.”

“You didn’t have pigs.”

Jimenez shrugged. Pike noticed his accent came and went. Probably depended on who he talked to.

“Why does he call you Nugget?” Drake said.

The door opened and a man Pike hadn’t seen before came in with a tray. He sat it down on the coffee table in front of the chair. The tray was heaped with golden crusted chunks of food and several small bowls of brightly colored sauces.

“He’s addicted to Chicken McNuggets,” Pike said.

“I fly them in from Cancun.” He gestured at the table. “Help yourself.”

It had been a while since they’d eaten. Pike and Drake dug into the food. It wasn’t great, or even very good. But it would get Pike through another day. That would be a day closer to finding Gemma.

Between bites, he said, “I need to make a call.”

Jimenez stood more gracefully than expected and made his way to the desk. He returned with a bulky black phone.

“Satellite phone,” he said. “After you make your call, I want to hear how you ended up in my backyard.”

Pike punched in the number for the satellite phone on the Triton.

Pug answered after two rings.

“It’s me,” Pike said. “How’s Professor Chapin?”

“Pretty good. Did you know he was a poker champ? I didn’t, until he had my 300 bucks.”

It was good to hear his friend’s squeaky voice again.

“Where are you?”

“About 8 hours out of Miami. You?”

“Mexico.”

“Need me there?”

“I don’t think so.”

“It’s weird that you called now.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because someone just called for you.”

“Who?”

“Dunno,” Pug said. “A guy. No name. Left a number.”

Pike gestured for a pen. Jimemez pulled a cheap roller ball pen from his pocket. Pike took a napkin from the tray and copied the number Pug gave him.

“I’ll be in touch. We’ll get together soon. Make sure the professor gets to a hospital.”

“If I make him do anything, it’ll be to play another game. I want to win my money back.”

“Good luck.”

Pike ended the call. He entered the new number.

“Pike?” the voice said.

“Yeah. Who’s this?”

“The girl will be in front of the Imperial Laguna in Cancun at 3 A.M.”

“Which girl? Gemma?”

“She’ll be there for three minutes. That’s your window. Then she’s gone.”

The call disconnected.

“What time is it?” Pike had lost his watch somewhere along the way.

“Just past ten,” Jimenez said.

“Who was it?” Drake said.

Pike didn’t answer. He had less than five hours.

If the caller wasn’t lying.

If it wasn’t a trap.

It didn’t matter. If there was a chance to find Gemma, he would take it.

“Nugget,” Pike said. “I need to borrow your chopper.”

To be Continued

© Mark Justice 2010

Donovan Pike Podcast--Chapter 10

2010-10-03T15:38:00.001-04:00

Click to listen.

Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 10

2010-10-03T15:36:00.001-04:00

Gustav saw the gun in Pike’s hand.

“Throw it down”

Pike didn’t move. Gustav pulled a pistol from his holster. It was a Ruger 3301. He aimed it at Gemma.

“I only need Dr. Crassberg,” he said. “It will not trouble me to kill the other one.”

Gemma was a little pale, but otherwise showed no emotion.

Pike tossed Drake’s gun to the ground.

Helton took a step toward Gustav.

“Hey, asshole,” the pilot said, “are you the reason my plane is on fire over there?”

“Yes,” Gustav said. He shot Helton. The pilot doubled over, clutching his stomach. He fell to the jungle floor.

A whimper came from Elizabeth. No one else made a sound until Pike spoke.

“I’ll remember this, Gustav, and I’ll make it right.”

Gustav holstered his pistol. “Very good, yes. You remember me, and please mention my name to St. Peter. You’re on your way to meet him now.”

Pike grabbed Drake’s arm, pulling the other man into the deep jungle growth. As soon as they were hidden, both men dived to the ground..

Bullets crashed above them.

“They’re aiming where we would be if we were stupid enough to still be standing,” Drake said.

“I was counting on it,” Pike said.

Before the enemy could rush them, Pike and Drake crawled to a group of thin trees. Drake did pretty well with his inured arm.

When they were behind the trees, Drake whispered, “Not much protection.”

“They’re papaya trees,” Pike said. “The jungle’s thick with them. Hopefully, they won’t have to stop any bullets. We just need the shelter for a minute.”

The shooting stooped. Men were coming. Someone used a machete to cut away the thick cover.

Two of the men in white appeared through a freshly-hacked opening in the green vegetation. The man in front held a machete in one hand and a lightweight machine pistol in the other. The man in the rear used both hands to carry his M249.

The path of the two Brotherhood agents took them next to Pike’s hiding place. Pike let both men pass by. He stepped from cover and got an arm around the throat of the second man. The second man made a sound that was somewhere between a shout and a gurgle. The first man spun around, raised the machine pistol and squeezed off a three-round burst. The bullets stitched a bloody line across the chest of the man Pike held. Pike reached around and clasped the trigger hand of the now-dead Brotherhood agent. The sound of the M249 was enormous. The man with the machete was nearly cut in two by the fire from the light machine gun. Pike held onto the gun and let the dead man drop. Drake bent over the other victim, recovering the machine pistol.

Pike headed back toward Gemma and the other Brotherhood men.

“Too many of ‘em,” Drake said.

“Not as many as a minute ago,” Pike said.

Pike followed the rough path that had been hacked by the machete. At the edge of the path he peered through the brush. Gemma and Elizabeth were gone. So was Gustav and most of the Brotherhood soldiers. Four men remained.

Pike stepped from cover and raised the M249. He held the machine gun steady until the four men were cut down.

Drake appeared at his side as the last shot was fired. Pike’s ears rang.

“Didn’t leave any for me,” Drake said.

Pike dropped the machine gun.

“Empty,” he said. “And too damn heavy.”

“Hard to keep the barrel down?”

“A little.” Pike examined the dead men. Two of them wore holsters like Gustav’s. The guns were also Rugers. Pike stuck one of them in the waistband of his jeans and carried the other.

The sound of a helicopter came from nearby.

“Shit,” Pike said.

“Where’s Helton?” Drake said.

The pilot’s body was gone.

“Maybe he survived and crawled away.”

Drake examined the spot where Helton fell.

“He was gut shot. You see a blood trail?”

Except for the area around the four dead agents, there was no blood.

“It doesn’t matter,” Pike said. “It doesn’t help us find Gemma and Elizabeth.”

Pike walked back to the jungle path.

“Got a destination in mind?” Drake said.

“Wherever there’s a phone.”

Pike retrieved the machete from the dead man in the jungle. As it turned out, he didn’t need it for long. They soon stumbled across an old path, created by centuries of footfalls.

“Maybe this leads to an Aztec cell phone store,” Drake said.

“I liked it better when you were the strong silent type.”

Drake grunted.

Neither of them spoke again for almost an hour, when Pike noticed Drake’s ragged breathing.

“Let’s take a break,” he said.

“Don’t...need a break,” Drake huffed.

“Sure. But I do.” Pike sat down at the edge of the path and leaned against the trunk of a papaya tree. The butt of the Ruger dug into his back, so Pike pulled it out and set both guns on the ground next to him. Drake settled next to him, resting the machine pistol across his lap.

When Pike found a phone, he would call Pug on the Triton. Depending on where the ship was, they could hook up with him at the coast or Pug could send a plane for him. Then the search for Gemma could begin.

Drake was silent, until his breathing evened out.

“This what it’s like for you?” he said.

“What?”

“Running around the world, pissing people off. Hiding in the jungle.”

Pike nodded. “Pretty much, Except for the hiding. I’m not a big fan of that.”

“Why do you do it?”

“Run around the world? Or piss people off?”

“You’re a rich kid. Shouldn’t you be clubbing in Miami or dating Paris Hilton?”

Pike didn’t answer for a long moment.

“I’ve only loved two things,” he said. “My freedom. And excitement. The only thing the money means to me is I get to live my life the way I want.”

Drake made a sound that might have been a chuckle.

“There was a time you loved something else.”

Pike stared at Drake, then shrugged.

“I was young. Gemma wanted to follow her dad into the business. I didn’t.”

“You always were a restless kid, Donny boy.”

“We need to have more of these heart-to-hearts, Dr. Phil. Really. I feel so much better.”

Drake stood up.

“Nap time’s over. Let’s move out.”

Pike stood, and the walk resumed.

They continued on the path until the sun went down. In the twilight, the path ended at a barrier of green.

Pike pushed the machete into the vegetation. It encountered an obstruction.

“A wall,” he said. He jammed the point of the blade in the ground and shoved the Ruger into his waistband next to its mate. He used both hands to feel along the wall. When he found the gate, he used the machete to hack through the undergrowth.

The gate was metal, flecked with rust, and locked.

“Doesn’t look very sturdy,” Drake said.

Pike kicked it. With a squeal, the latch broke and the gate swung open.

“They must not get many visitors from this side,” he said.

Pike let the machete fall to the path. He carried both Rugers as he stepped through the gate. Drake followed with the machine pistol in his good hand.

They were on the lawn of a large estate, standing on perfectly manicured grass. A massive house was in the distance, perhaps 300 yards away. A light shone from every window.

“I’d hate to mow this yard,” Drake said.

Pike headed for the house.

“Let’s knock on the door,” he said.

They had covered perhaps 50 yards when they heard the vehicles. Big trucks. Maybe Hummers. It was hard to tell. All they could see were headlights. Three vehicles stopped 10 yards away. The trucks were equipped with big spotlights. Pike squinted into the glare. He heard the familiar sound of a shotgun as a shell was racked into the chamber.

Pike looked at Drake. Drake shrugged. They both dropped their guns.

A voice on the other side of the lights shouted in Spanish: Who are you?

“Our plane crashed in the jungle,” Pike replied in the same language. “We just need a telephone.”

Someone else replied. In English. The voice was deep and guttural, as if the speaker had endured an injury to the throat. It was a voice Pike recognized.

“Donovan Pike? Is that you?”

Drake made that sound again, the one that might have been a laugh.

“Pike,” the voice said. “You have balls to come here, you son of a whore.”

“Of all the people I could get stuck in the jungle with,” Drake muttered, “I end up with Mister Charm.”

To be Continued

© Mark Justice 2010

No Pike Again This Week

2010-06-28T09:15:00.005-04:00

Due to impending deadlines on another project, the next chapter won't be posted until July 18th. Talk to you then.

***
Update:

Obviously, I didn't make it this week. It looks most likely that regular posting will resume again sometime in August. Thanks for your patience.

Donovan Pike Podcast--Chapter 9

2010-06-20T18:50:00.000-04:00

Click to listen.

Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 9

2010-06-20T15:57:00.002-04:00

The jet almost leveled out. Pike pushed off from the bulkhead, and was able to stand again, though the cabin leaned to the left.

Pike’s first instinct was to run to the back of the jet. That was rumored to be the safest place in the event of a crash. The Ravenscroft jet was small, though. It was designed to hold 8 passengers. When it crashed, there wouldn’t be a safe place.

Unless Early Helton was a magician.

“How’s it looking?” Pike’s mouth was very dry.

“Not the best time for a conversation, partner,” Helton said. “If you want to be useful, why don’t try to put an eyeball on that Martian plane?”

“Martian?”

“You never saw War of the Worlds with the Martian death ray?” Helton shook his head. “Kids these days.”

“I thought this wasn’t a good time for chit chat.”

“It’s not. I tend to babble when I’m lookin’ at certain death. Now leave me alone.”

“Certain death. Got it,” Pike said. He placed a hand on the door frame to steady himself and returned to the passenger area.

Gemma looked composed. She buckled her seat belt and nodded at Pike. There was no use whining about something you couldn’t change. Pike nodded back before taking a seat. He agreed. He and Gemma were more alike than either of them wanted to admit.

Elizabeth was on her knees in her seat facing the window.

“Uh, in case anybody cares, our wing is gone!” She turned around until her butt was on the seat cushion. “Did you guys get that? WE HAVE NO WING!”

Drake, in the seat next to Pike, looked vaguely amused.

“We still have one wing,” Pike said. “That’s something.”

He thought, but didn’t add, unless that bastard out there shoots it off.

Elizabeth shook her head rapidly, as if Pike’s words were the annoying buzz of a fly. She turned to Gemma. “Planes need both wings, right? Right?”

“Buckle your seat belt, honey, and shut the hell up,” Gemma said pleasantly.

Amazingly, Elizabeth obeyed.

The jet was losing attitude. Helton was trying to control their descent, something that was virtually impossible with one wing missing, even for the best of pilots.

Pike watched the patch of sky that was visible through the window nearest his seat. He did not see the enemy craft.

“What was it?” Gemma said from across the aisle.

“Some kind of experimental plane, armed with...with a weapon that fired a wave of black light. That’s what got the wing.”

Elizabeth opened her mouth. She thought better of speaking and shut her mouth again.

Gemma paled. Pike saw the truth in her eyes.

“You know something. What is it?” he said.

Now it was Gemma’s turn to shake her head. Pike got the feeling that she wasn’t refusing to answer his question. Rather, she seemed to be rejecting an idea that had just occurred to her.

“What?” Pike urged.

“That weapon. It’s sounds like–”

“This is it!” Helton’s voice was loud yet calm. “I’ll do the best I can.”

First, the jet tilted crazily. If not for their restraints, Gemma and Elizabeth would have been hurled from their seats. The back of Pike’s head slammed against his chair.

Then the plane spun. For a second they were upside down, and Helton’s curses could be heard from the cockpit. He managed to get the jet right side up, but now the nose was pointed at the earth.

They broke through the clouds and Pike saw the jungle below, a world of green getting closer by the second. Pike glanced at Drake. The only sign of anxiety in the older man was the frantic motion of his jaw as he chewed a stick of gum. He caught Pike looking at him and winked.

“Hell of a week, eh?” he said.

“You’re not the guy I’d choose to die next to,” Pike said. “On the other hand, at least you’ll stay dead this time.”

“We’ll see,” Drake said.

The jungle rushed up at them faster than Pike thought possible. The belly of the jet struck the treetops. The cabin was rocked and Elizabeth screamed. Pike thought Gemma would slap her, but Gemma – like the rest of them -- did not want to turn loose of her armrests.

The jet hit something else, wrenching Pike’s neck. The world outside the cabin windows had turned green. They were plowing through the upper levels of jungle growth. Pike wondered if the trees could possibly slow the craft without disintegrating it.

The roar of the engines and the crunch of shattering wood grew so loud Pike couldn’t hear Gemma as she shouted something at him. He could only make out the words “my father” before the jet struck something hard, bounced and turned on its side. A gigantic screech of wrenching metal told Pike the other wing was now gone. The limb of a tree, brown and green and deadly as a javelin, broke through the window between the heads of Pike and Drake.

The jet came to a stop.

Pike was at a 90 degree angle, with his knees above his head. He unbuckled his belt and used the arm rests to pull up. He climbed out of the chair and looked up at Gemma and Elizabeth, both hanging from their seats by their restraints.

“I’ll be right there.” Without the noise Pike felt like he was shouting.

“No. Help Drake first. He only has one good arm,” Gemma said.

Pike planted a foot between the backs of the two chairs. He punched the button that released Drake’s seat belt, then pulled the older man to the edge of seat.

“Still here, Donny Boy,” Drake said.

“Don’t remind me.”

There was a thud and a moan. Pike whirled to see that Gemma had freed herself and landed on her hands and keens. He helped her to her feet.

“I’ll get the girl. You see to Helton,” she said.

Pike worked his way to the cockpit, stepping carefully through the tilted funhouse the jet had become. He found Helton slumped against the instrument panel. Pike felt his neck. The pilot’s pulse was strong. He sat Helton upright. A gash on his forehead was bleeding. Helton moaned.

“Helton, you with me?”

Helton’s eyelids fluttered open.

“How you feeling?” Pike said.

“Like I was in a plane crash.”

“What a coincidence. Let’s get out of here.”

Pike helped Helton to his feet. The pilot insisted on flipping a couple of switches on the instrument panel before they exited the cockpit. The others were waiting for them.

“He’s been knocked around, but he’s alive,” Pike told them.

“What now?” Elizabeth said.

“We assess the situation,” Gemma said. She sniffed the air. “Is that smoke?”

A dark cloud drifted out of the cockpit, followed by the crackle of flames.

“Let’s get outside. Figure out where we are and go from there,” Pike said.

The main door was on the port side of the plane, the side closest to the ground. Drake turned the handle and pushed. The door didn’t budge. He threw his shoulder into it, to no avail.

“Judgin’ by the scenery out there, I guess it’s blocked by the vegetation,” Helton said.

Gemma immediately went to the back of the jet and threw open the emergency exit on the starboard side.

“How far?” Pike said.

“Not far,” she said. Gemma jumped. There was a soft thud and a gasp. Pike left Helton leaning against the bulkhead and rushed to the emergency exit. Gemma was sitting on the brown and green floor of the jungle, rubbing her ankle. The drop had to be sixteen feet or more.

“It’s not broken. Just a sprain,” she said.

Pike turned to find Elizabeth staring over his shoulder.

“Come on, Red. Elevator’s going down.” She nodded, and he lowered her by her arms out the door. “Bend your knees and roll.” He let go. The young archeologist did as he instructed, tucking and rolling to absorb the impact. She hopped to her feet and waved.

Soon, they were all on the ground. Helton had recovered enough to go next. Then he and Pike helped Drake off the plane. Finally Pike dangled from the exit, then dropped. Gemma was up and limping around by then.

The passenger cabin of he jet was engulfed in flames. They moved away, in case of an explosion.

“Where do you think we are?” Gemma said.

“My best guess is southern Mexico,” Helton said.

“Next question: will anybody be looking for us?”

“Probably,” he said. “This crate has a beacon that should have activated on impact. And there’s another one that I manually keyed before bailing out of the cockpit.” He glanced back at the burning craft. “It worked for a while, anyway. Somebody will show up sooner or later.”

“Let’s plan for later,” Pike said. “We need water now and, eventually, food.” He turned to Elizabeth. “Feel like a walk, Red?”

Her face lit up. “Sure. I mean, I just survived a plane crash. Now I’m going trekking through the jungle like Indiana Jones. I wish Amanda Reeder could see me now.”

“Who?”

“A girl I went to high school with. Her daddy had more money than God. She always said I would end up working for her. Last I heard, the SEC busted her daddy and took all his money. Amanda is working at a hair salon doing manicures.”

“Amanda Reeder can suck it,” Pike said. Elizabeth whooped and gave him a high five.

Gemma sighed and rolled her eyes. “She’s still the enemy, Pike.”

“Sorry,” Pike said. “The enemy and I are going to look for fresh water.” He stepped close to Gemma. “You were trying to tell me something when the plane went down.”

“Later,” she said.

“Wait,” Drake said. He removed the big handgun for his shoulder rig and handed it to Pike. “Just in case.”

Pike stuck the gun in his waist band. “Come on, Red.”

That’s when they heard it.

“Choppers,” Helton said.

“More than one,” Gemma said.

“Probably Mexican military,” Helton said.

“We have a good relationship with the government,” Gemma said. “Maybe we can still get home today.”

The choppers landed south of them, on the other side of a dense wall of foliage.

They heard murmured voices and the tromp of many feet. Soon, the blade of a machete hacked through the brush and a white-garbed figure appeared. He carried an M249 light machine gun in his other hand.

“Not the Mexican army,” Pike said. Within seconds, twenty similarly dressed men faced them, each with a M249 pointed at Pike and the others.

A final man made his way through the opening in the growth. He was taller than the others. His black hair was slicked back and he had a thick black beard. He smiled when he saw Elizabeth.

“Gustav,” she said.

The man who had destroyed the pyramid at El Castillo pointed at them.

“Take the women,” he said. “And kill the men.”

To be Continued

© Mark Justice 2010

Donovan Pike Podcast--Chapter 8

2010-06-13T11:17:00.000-04:00

Click to listen.

Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 8

2010-06-13T10:57:00.001-04:00

Chapter 8

As soon as the jet was in the air, Pike went to the restroom. He washed his face and tried to clean the blood from his arms with the restroom’s thin, inadequate paper towels. He checked his face in the mirror and found signs of fatigue but no indication he was coming down with the Gray Death.

“The only good thing that’s happened all week,” he mumbled.

Returning to the cabin, he found the atmosphere to be tense. Gemma was seated next to the red-haired woman from the Brotherhood of the First. The younger woman wasn’t restrained, though the large knife in Gemma’s hand was holding her attention. She had pressed her self as deeply into the chair as she could. Across the aisle, Drake appeared to be sleeping.

Outside the windows Pike saw only white clouds, dappled by sunlight.

“Donovan!” Gemma’s voice was filled with false enthusiasm. “Our guest refuses to answer any questions about the mass murder she participated in. Do you have anything you’d like to say before I show her to the door?”

At the sight of Pike, the man who had knocked her out, the girl seemed to sink further into the chair, if that was possible. There was naked terror in her eyes. Though she appeared to be close to Gemma’s age, the Brotherhood agent looked helpless and frail. Pike didn’t believe she knew anything about the killing of Gemma’s team. He wasn’t sure if Gemma felt the same way. She may have been bluffing. On the other hand, she could be planning to drop Red into the jungle 20,000 feet below. Pike wasn’t going to let that happen. For now, though, he would play along.

“Come on, kid, at least tell us your name,” he said. “That’ll make the story better years from now when we sit around, having a few beers and say, ‘Remember that time Gemma dropped Mary Smith out of a plane to her screaming death?’”

The girl cringed.

“Hey, your name isn’t really Mary Smith, is it? That would be a hell of a coincidence.”

She started to cry. Pike suddenly felt sorry for her. He tried not to let it show on his face.

“E...e...e..” she said between sobs.

“‘E’ what?” Gemma said.

“Elizabeth,” she whispered. “Elizabeth Crassberg.”

“Okay, Elizabeth Crassberg, anything you’d like to tell us before we say our tearful goodbyes?”

Elizabeth drew in a deep, shuddering breath. She wiped the tears from her eyes. “They recruited me when I was working on my Ph.D at Cornell. They called themselves the Aegis Corporation. The company had a great reputation. Privately-funded archeological research. They were doing some of the best – and only – work outside the world of academia. And after being in school that long, working for Aegis was like a breath of fresh air. I was there for a year before I found out the truth.”

“That Aegis was a front for the Brotherhood of the First,” Pike said.

Elizabeth shook her head. Talking about her work had calmed her a bit. “Not a front. Aegis is a real company, doing solid work. But the money comes from the Brotherhood. That fact isn’t publicized since the Brotherhood has a reputation that’s, ah, a bit on the fringe.”

“If ‘fringe’ means a bunch of freakin’ whack jobs, then I agree,” Pike said.

“How did they recruit you to their cause?” Gemma said. She no longer held the knife in a threatening gesture. It rested across one thigh.

“You really don’t get it,” Elizabeth said. “There was no recruitment. The Brotherhood isn’t a cult. It’s like an ancient order of monks, interested in preserving history.”

“Would it be rude to point out how well you guys preserved El Castillo?” Pike said.

“You don’t know that. Maybe Gustav didn’t do this. Or if he did, he could have been working for someone else.” But Elizabeth didn’t sound like she believed her own theories.

Pike had a different idea.

“What if the Brotherhood of the First has divisions you don’t know about?” he said. “Maybe there’s the PR department – the guys who meet the new recruits and tell them they’re doing noble and important work. Somewhere else there’s a not-so-public division. The black ops department.”

“Ridiculous,” Elizabeth said.

Pike recalled his conversation with Jimmy Swift.

“If the Brotherhood really wants to protect historical artifacts, then they would need the means to enforce that protection,” he said.

“They have a security force,” Elizabeth said. “It’s purely defensive. The Brotherhood is a peaceful organization. They don’t go around blowing stuff up.”

A shout came from the open cockpit.

“We got trouble,” Helton announced.

Drake was instantly awake, his hand on the weapon inside his jacket.

Pike rushed to the cockpit. Helton pointed forward. The jet was barely above the cloud cover. Pike was confused for a few seconds. He didn’t know what the pilot was pointing at. Other than the clouds and blue sky, there was nothing there. Then Pike saw it.

It was little more than a dot. As he watched it grew larger.

Another aircraft was headed for them.

“Smaller than us,” Helton said. “Faster.”

“How can you tell?” Pike squinted, desperate to make out any features of the other craft.

Helton held up a pair of Steiner military binoculars. Pike took them and sighted on the other aircraft.

“Maybe they’re just lost,” he said. “Or we are.”

“Maybe,” Helton said. “Tell me what you think after you get a good look.”

Pike raised the binoculars. The magnification of the Steiner was fantastic. Once he steadied his hand and found the target, details jumped out. The other jet was black with smaller wings than he’d seen before.

“Is it experimental?” he asked Helton.

“Has to be. Otherwise I’d recognize it. But that ain’t what’s botherin’ me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look again.”

Once more, Pike focused on the target.

“Now concentrate on the area right above the cockpit,” Helton said.

An object protruded from the top of the plane. It was cylindrical and, like the jet, it was black.

“What is that?” Pike said.

“No idea,” Helton said.

“Is it a weapon?”

“If it is, this will be the shortest dogfight in the history of aerial combat. We got nothin’.”

The other jet was now close enough that Pike didn’t need the binoculars. Its speed was incredible. It must be 90 percent engine, with a seat in front.

“Got any ideas?” Helton said.

“Just one,” Pike said. “Run.”

Helton grinned. “We can’t outrun her, but I can head inland. Maybe find a place to set down.”

He turned to the doorway of the cockpit. The door was held open with a bungee cord.

“Hang on to somethin’, people. I need to make a course adjustment.”

Helton pulled the wheel to the port side, and the Ravenscroft jet responded. As the jet began its turn, Pike saw something on the other craft that disturbed him.

There was a series of flashes from the odd cylinder on top of what he now thought of as the enemy. Unusual flashes, like discharges of electrical energy. Only the light wasn’t white or yellow, like lightning. It was black, like the jet itself.

Black lightning.

As Pike watched, the flashes of black started to spin around the tip of the cylinder, creating a dark pinwheel.

“What the hell is that?” Helton said.

“I don’t think we wanna know.”

As if responding to Pike’s words, the spinning black flashes coalesced into a ebony beam. The beam instantly crossed the distance between the two aircraft. The Ravenscroft jet shuddered.

Helton cursed. The jet tilted wildly and Pike slammed into the bulkhead.

“What happened?”

‘Nothin’ good,” Helton said. “That Star Trek ray gun just sliced off one of our wings. We’re goin’ down.”

To be Continued

© Mark Justice 2010

The Return of Donovan Pike

2010-06-07T08:54:00.002-04:00

The serial resumes on June 13, and will hopefully remain weekly until it's complete.

During the hiatus, I've had an offer to publish the novel in book form. I'll have more about this as the story nears its end.

What I Haven't Been Doing

2010-04-11T10:40:00.001-04:00

One thing about my life. It’s never boring.

Here in the middle of April, I can say with absolute certainty that 2010 has been the worst writing year I’ve had.

In a prefect storm of circumstance, my schedule has been derailed by my day job, a family illness and some health concerns of my own. The last two items should come more clearly into focus over the next week or two. My sincere hope is that the remainder of this year will be eight blockbuster months of productivity.

As of now, I’m behind on everything: short stories, novels, reviews, interviews, correspondence and cleaning the litter box. If I owe you fiction, a package or a favor, please know I’m sorry, and that my failure to meet these obligations haunts my dreams. I hope to be caught up on everything soon.

Well. The cats are giving me nasty looks. Time to scoop.

Donovan Pike Podcast--Chapter 7

2010-03-28T14:17:00.001-04:00

Click to listen.

Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 7

2010-03-28T14:15:00.001-04:00

Pike took off at a sprint.

“Donovan! Wait!” Gemma’s shout did not slow him. Pike knew he wasn’t a patient man. He long ago stopped trying to be. He embraced his flaws and tried to make them work for him.

He ran straight for the pyramid, changing his course only to avoid the sprawled, mummified corpses that littered the ground. He reached the corner of El Castillo and rounded the edge of the massive stone structure. The thick jungle air filled his lungs. He heard the cries of exotic birds and a screech that may have come from a monkey.

The white-garbed figure ran toward the gravel parking lot. Several trucks sat there, presumably the vehicles that ferried the archeological team to the site.

The person he chased was smaller than Pike had expected, and he was slow. A hazmat suit was not conducive to covering distances quickly.

A cloud of dust hovered above the parking lot. Pike heard the crunch of gravel and the roar of a big truck engine. It grew fainter as he closed the gap with the other runner, and he realized what had happened.

The getaway vehicle was gone. Whitey had been left behind.

The figure in the hazmat suit ran onto the gravel of the lot, then came to a stop with shoulders slumped in resignation or disbelief.

Pike hurled his body at the other man, and both of them skidded across the lot. The sharp edges of the gravel tore at Pike’s arms.

That’s gonna hurt later, he thought.

He rose to his knees and yanked on the hood of the hazmat suit. The owner of the suit grabbed at Pike’s wrists. With a rip of Velcro tearing loose, the hood came off, and Pike saw a mass of red hair. The figure rolled over and tried to push Pike away with a jab of a knee. The knee grazed Pike’s crotch, and he instinctively lashed out. His right fist only grazed the side of the other’s head. It was enough to stop the struggle. The figure in white grew still.

For the first time Pike saw it was a woman.

She stared up at him with eyes the color of emeralds. But the green eyes were dazed and unfocused. He rolled off of her.

The crunch of gravel alerted him to the arrival of the others.

As usual, Gemma instantly assessed the situation.

“You beat up a girl?”

“I’m fine,” he said. “Thanks for asking.” He brushed gravel from his scraped forearms. Dirt and blood were caked in streaks along his skin.

Drake and Helton were right behind Gemma. The two BDF officers stood at a distance.

“Who’s she?” Helton said.

“You beat up a girl?” Drake said. He chuckled.

“I didn’t know she was a...she. Aw, screw this.” Pike stood up and pulled the red-haired woman to her feet. “Snap out of it. I didn’t hit you that hard.”

The woman moaned. She touched a hand to the spot on her chin where Pike’s fist had landed. The area was already bruised. The contact shook her out of the daze. She realized her face was exposed to the air.

“No!” She tried to free herself from Pike’s grip. Her gaze settled on the hood of her hazmat suit, which lay a few feet away in the gravel.

“Forget it, sister,” Gemma said. “What happened here?”

The woman gaped at Gemma. Her mouth opened and closed, but no words came out.

Gemma grabbed a handful of the woman’s hair and yanked. The red-haired woman squealed. Gemma followed up with a hard slap across the other female’s face. Pike released his grip on the hazmat suit.

“Gemma,” he said.

“Shut up.” She dragged the girl to Drake by a fistful of red hair. Gemma pulled Drake’s handgun from the shoulder rig he wore over his polo shirt. Drake’s expression never changed. He appeared to be vaguely amused by the proceedings.

Gemma jammed the barrel of the weapon under the bruised chin of the woman in the white outfit.

“Tell me what happened here.”

“Please,” the woman said. “Shoot me. Please.”

“Excuse me?” Gemma said.

“I’d rather be shot. Anything’s better than the Gray Death.”

“The what?”

“That doesn’t sound good,” Helton said.

“What’s the Gray Death?” Gemma said.

“It‘s what happened to them,” the woman said. She pointed to two mummified corpses that lay at the base of El Castillo.

The reminder of the fate of her employees enraged Gemma. She pulled on the woman’s hair hard enough to bend her backward.

“How did you kill my people? And why?”

“I didn’t...” the red-haired woman began. “You think I did this?”

“You’re dressed for the part.”

“I’m not a killer. I’m an archeologist.”

“For the Brotherhood of the First,” Pike said.

The red head’s eyes darted to him.

“Yes,” she said. “We’re doing good work. We’re protecting history and we’re protecting mankind.”

“Tell that to those dead people,” Gemma said. She increased the pressure of the Glock against the young woman’s chin.

“I don’t know what happened! They were dead when I was brought in. We were told to wear these suits as a precaution. I examined the site, that’s all. The chamber under the pyramid. Then you showed up and the rest of them left me behind.”

“How many of you were there?” Pike said.

“Four. Billings, our team leader. Niles Freeland, the other archaeologist. And Gustav.” She shuddered as she mentioned the third name.

“Who’s Gustav?”

“He’s...security. He’s the one who told us about the dead bodies and he made us wear these suits.”

Pike considered her words. Whatever this Gray Death was, it could be what Jimmy Swift had warned him about. If it was, then Pike suspected this Gustav had made an earlier trip to El Castillo.

“Pardon my concern.” Early Helton said, “but should we be worried about getting mummified?”

“Doubtful,” Gemma said. “If this thing was airborne we’ve already been exposed. Based on the position of the bodies it looks like it was fast-acting. My guess is it dissipated in the air.”

“Did this Gustav carry anything with him?” Pike said.

“A gun. And a case, like a small tool box. After I finished my examination of the chamber, Billings ordered Gustav to go back down there.” A dawning realization lit up her face. “When he came out, he didn’t have the tool box.”

“What does that mean?” Helton said.

“It means we have to get out of here,” Pike said.

It started as a rumble, like the coming of distant thunder. They quickly felt the vibration in their feet.

“Earthquake,” Helton said.

“No.” Pike pointed at the pyramid. A cloud of white chalky powder flew from the front entrance of El Castillo. A crack appeared in the center of the narrow steps that led up the face of the pyramid. The force of the vibrations grew stronger. Stones fell from the face of the ancient Mayan structure until the pyramid collapsed upon itself.

The shaking of the earth ceased.

They all stood silently until the dust was carried away by the light jungle breeze. When they could see what remained, all of them were stunned.

Finally, Pike spoke.

“Son of a bitch.”

Where a glorious testament to the skill of a lost civilization once stood, now there was only a pile of rubble.

The Brotherhood of the First had destroyed El Castillo, and buried the chamber beneath it.

“Madre de Dios.” The speaker was one of the BDF officers. Pike didn’t turn to see which one it was.

Gemma’s face was contorted with rage and grief. She slapped the red-haired woman again.

“Gemma, she didn’t do this,” Pike said.

“Yes, she did.” Gemma’s voice was tight. “She’s a part of this. She killed my people. She destroyed any clues that might have led to my father.”

“This is going to be hard to hide,” Drake said. “Are we sticking around to answer questions?”

Gemma glanced at the two BDF officers. She spoke to them in Spanish. The debate quickly became heated. She switched to English and said, “Drake, did you pack the gold like I asked?”

“It’s on the jet.”

“Good. Our hosts are taking us back to the airport. And thanks to my...generosity, they’re letting me take Red with us.”

“Why?” Pike said.

“Because we’re going to have a nice civilized conversation on the way back. And if I don’t get the answers I want, I’m going to toss her out of the plane.”

The other woman closed her eyes. Pike leaned toward her.

“Nice job on that protecting history thing,” he said.

To be Continued

© Mark Justice 2010

Donovan Pike Podcast--Chapter 6

2010-03-21T11:30:00.003-04:00

Click to listen.

Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 6

2010-03-21T11:28:00.002-04:00

Pike arrived back at the airport a few minutes before Gemma’s deadline. He parked the Hummer next to an identical vehicle at the side of the Ravenscroft private hanger.

The interior of the building was brightly lit. Two black jets were parked side by side, one was massive. He didn’t see the plane he’d been in a few hours ago.

A tall man was strolling around the smaller jet, stopping every few feet to examine the exterior of the aircraft. He wore jeans and a denim jacket, and he needed a haircut. Pike guessed his age at close to 60.

Noticing him, the man said, “Hey. You Pike?”

Without waiting for a response, he ambled over and stuck out a hand. “I’m Early Helton. The pilot.”

Pike shook with him. “Anything wrong with the plane?”

“What?” Helton chuckled. “Aw, no. Just my pre-flight inspection.”

“Don’t you have gizmos that do that?” Pike said.

“Sure, but I try to eyeball the crate before we take off. Old habit. Hey, everybody else is on board. Climb on in and we’ll get this show on the road.”

Pike carried his gym bag up the stairs.

The interior of the passenger cabin was comfortable without being flashy. Eight plush chairs lined the walls. Each one had a foldaway work table. Gemma had hers open, and was typing away on a laptop. A door in the rear of the cabin presumably led to the restroom and the galley.

One other chair was occupied. Pike hadn’t expected another passenger. Especially one who had recently been shot.

“Miss me?” Drake’s voice was a little weak and his left arm was in a sling. Otherwise he appeared to be the same cocky jerk Pike remembered.

“I knew it,” Pike said.

“That I’m hard to kill?”

“No. I knew that sniper needed glasses.” Pike stowed his bag under one of the chairs. He settled into the soft leather seat.

Gemma looked up from her laptop.

“Any problems?”

He had planned to tell her about the visit from Jimmy Swift and the warning about the Brotherhood. Now he decided to save it for later. He wasn’t sure he could trust Drake, and he was little pissed he wasn’t told the security head would be joining them.

“Not until I got here and found out Chuckles was along for the ride.”

Gemma smiled at him.

“He insisted. The bullet went through his shoulder. And the doc loaded him up on antibiotics. We can always use an extra hand.”

“Sure,” Pike said.

The jet taxied out of the hanger. Pike buckled his seat belt and rested his head against the padded cushion. It had been almost three days since he’d slept. He closed his eyes and dozed off instantly.

It seemed like only seconds had passed when someone touched his shoulder. An attractive young woman with eyes of black smiled at him.

“Mister Pike,” she said in a soft voice, “would you like to dine? I have grilled salmon with an orange and fennel salad.”

“Got a burger?”

She smiled, revealing two of the most perfect dimples he had ever seen.

“Sorry, no.”

“Then fish and fennel it is.”

She turned and returned to the galley. Pike noticed that she wore a skirt that hugged her curves like a second skin.

“Hands off the employees, Donovan.”
From across the aisle, Gemma gave him an exaggerated look of disapproval.

“Hey, I was just trying to get along.”

A snort came from the direction of Drake’s seat. But when Pike turned, the older man’s eyes were closed. Pike thought he saw the hint of a smile on Drake’s face.

Pike pointed a thumb back at Drake as he said to Gemma, “Does he need to have his bandage changed? Or maybe his diaper?”

“Are you volunteering?” Gemma said.

Drake snorted again.

Pike stood up to stretch his legs. It was still dark. The only thing he saw in the window was his own reflection. He needed a shave. And he needed his life back. He felt guilty about it, but even though Pike loved his father, the man’s presumed death had brought to a conclusion his endless search for La Ciudad de los Dioses. That quest had driven away Pike’s mother, and stolen years of Pike’s childhood. It drove Pike away as well, but it wasn’t until his father disappeared that Pike felt he was free to be his own man. Now it felt like his freedom was slipping away.

“Mister Pike?”

The flight attendant had returned with his meal. But Pike’s appetite was gone.

***

The jet landed at Corozal Airport an hour before dawn. The passengers were not required to pass through Customs. They simply exited the aircraft and climbed into a pair of Hummers driven by officers of the Belize Defence Force. Pike and Gemma rode in one vehicle while Drake and Early Helton, the pilot, took the other.

“Why is the pilot coming?” Pike said.

Gemma shrugged. “He asked to ride along. Early’s a handy guy.”

Gemma began tapping at her smart phone. Pike watched the view. As the sun rose, the city turned to jungle. The four-lane highway became two narrow lanes of asphalt, then gravel and dirt. Despite the Hummer’s suspension, the last hour of the trip tossed Pike and Gemma like stones in a rock tumbler.

Finally, the vehicles stopped in the middle of the road. To the right was a clearing in the jungle. Pike saw a few tents and a couple of other vehicles, older American pickup trucks. The two drivers went to check out the camp, while their passengers stood and stretched.

After a minute spent poking into the tents, the two BDF officers returned. One of them – a short, stocky man who was Pike and Gemma’s driver, spoke in rapid Spanish. Gemma answered. She looked troubled.

“The camp is empty,” she said. “Our people and the other soldiers must be at the site.”

“They always go to work this early?” Pike said.

She didn’t answer. All of them got back into the Hummers. The dirt road lead back to a highway. They were only on the blacktop for a few minutes before the drivers found another narrow gravel lane. When the road ended, the divers continued plowing through the jungle. It seemed to Pike that the Hummers were making their own path.

The big trucks exited the green world at the edge of a vast clearing. A Mayan pyramid dominated the view.

They had arrived at El Castillo from the back door.

Before the Hummer had completely stopped, Gemma was out of the truck and jogging toward the ancient structure. Pike was right behind her. When Gemma abruptly stopped, he nearly slammed into her.

A mummy lay on the ground in front of her.

At least, it appeared to be a mummy. The skin was gray-black, and the lips had drawn away from the mouth exposing the white teeth.

It was definitely a mummy, Pike thought.

Except this mummy had long blonde hair and wore a T shirt, khaki shorts and New Balance running shoes. A cell phone was clasped in one hand.

Gemma knelt before the mummy. She reached out a hand, apparently intending to touch the blonde hair.

Pike grabbed her wrist.

“Don’t,” he said.

Gemma looked at him. There were tears in her eyes.

“This is Evie Donaldson,” she said. “We roomed together at college.”

“I remember her,” Pike said. “But you can’t touch her. We don’t know what did that to her.”

The others had joined them. One of the BDF officers muttered an oath in Spanish.

Helton, the pilot, walked past the corpse. He stopped and pointed toward the pyramid.

“There’s more,” he said.

Thirty yards away was another mummy, this one male. There was a third another ten yard farther. Closer to the pyramid, several corpse littered the ground.

“How many?” Pike said, still holding Gemma’s wrist.

“What?”

“How many of your people were here? How many soldiers?”

“I...I think – ”

“Seventeen.” The speaker was one of the BDF officers, the one who drove Drake and Helton’s Hummer. He looked nearly as stricken as Gemma.

Seventeen people. And the way they were spaced out meant some of them had tried to escape.

“What the hell did this to ‘em?” Helton said.

Pike remembered his encounter with Jimmy Swift. Swift said the Brotherhood had found something. Something bad.

Pike believed he had just witnessed the handiwork of the Brotherhood of the First.

“Heads up,” Drake said. The security specialist pointed at the pyramid with his good arm. “Somebody’s still alive.”

A figure dressed in a bulky garment disappeared around the corner of the pyramid. The garment resembled a hazmat suit.

Pike had a feeling things were about to get worse.

To be Continued

© Mark Justice 2010

Donovan Pike Podcast--Chapter 5

2010-02-21T14:36:00.001-05:00

Click to listen.

Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 5

2010-02-21T14:23:00.002-05:00

Gemma pressed a button and the screens went dark.

“I’ll call our hanger and have the jet fueled up. It will be ready as soon as we get to the airport,’ she said.

“Slow down a minute,” Pike said. “You left something out.”

“What?”

“The guys in the chopper. The one you blew up. Remember?”

“I remember,” she said. She dropped the remote on the table and settled back into the chair. She rubbed the bridge of her nose.

“And?”

“It’s going to sound crazy.”

“I’m back at Ravenscroft,” Pike said. “I expect crazy.”

Gemma smiled for a brief second before her expression grew serious.

“They call themselves ‘The Brotherhood of the First’.”

Pike chuckled. “No, really. Who are they?”

Gemma glared at him. “Those were my people who were killed out there. I’m not joking about this, Donovan.”

“Okay. Sorry. But what does that ‘First’ stuff mean.”

“Apparently the group was formed long ago – we’re talking centuries – by men who believed they were descended from advanced beings who came from the stars to found the world’s great civilizations.”

“O-o-okay,” Pike said. “A secret society full of whack jobs. Got it. Why did they try to kill me?”

“We think they want to keep us away from La Ciudad de los Dioses.”

“So they know where it is?”

“I don’t think so,” Gemma said. “They’ve been looking for it, just like our fathers. Their claim is a little more personal, though. The Brotherhood believes that whatever secrets are hidden within the city belong to them. It’s their birthright.”

“Gemma, how to you know so much about this secret society?”

She smiled again. “First, it’s not so secret. They have a web site. Their headquarters are in London.”

“Anything on that web site about snipers in choppers?”

“Not so much,” she said. “By the way, we both know one of their key people.”

“Who?”

“Felix Coptas.”

That was a name Pike hadn’t heard in many years.

When Pike’s father had joined forces with Gemma’s dad to start the Ravenscroft Foundation, Coptas had been part of the original staff. He was a young man then, tall and skeletal, already balding. He had a neatly-rimmed goatee and he always carried an expensive cane. Pike remembered Coptas accompanying his father on several expeditions. The man was brilliant. He was also devoid of social skills.

“When did he leave here?”

“Five years ago. Maybe six. He thought our fathers weren’t working hard enough to find The City of the Gods.”

“Someone even more obsessed than my old man? Whoa.”

“Hard to believe, I know.”

“Anybody else I know from the other team?”

“Coptas took a couple of our people with him. Simone Brazier, an archeologist, and Jimmy Swift.”

He didn’t know the woman. Swift was a guy about his own age. They’d been friends of a sort back in the day. Swift had worked in security.

Pike stood up. “What about the site in Belize?”

Gemma held up her hand. “Easy. I can handle a few things on my own. We have heavy security in place, thanks to a small donation to the local government. But you’ll see very soon. Ready to go?”

Pike shook his head. “I have to go to my place first.”

Gemma frowned. “The sooner we get there – ”

“I know. We can be wheels up in 90 minutes. But you have to loan me a car.”

She also stood. Pulling a key fob from her pocket, she tossed it to Pike.

“Take mine. It’s out front. We leave in an hour and a half.”

He caught the key. On his way to the door, Gemma spoke his name.

“Are you about to pull another disappearing act?”

“I’ll be there,” he said.

“Welcome back, Donovan.”

“I’m not back,” Pike said.

***

Gemma’s personal vehicle turned out to be a full-sized Hummer. He drove it with the windows down and the radio off.

It was nearly dusk when he left the island, and the darkness was complete by the time he reached his warehouse 30 miles away.

The structure looked abandoned from the outside. A long and low building, it took up an entire block of property on the harbor. The exterior walls were rusted metal and faded paint. Graffiti artists had tagged their signatures on every available space. The only indication that the facility was not completely forgotten were the numerous sodium vapor lights mounted around the roof of the warehouse.

Pike parked the Hummer at the southern side of the structure. He pressed his right palm against the wall near a steel door. There was a soft click and a panel opened beneath his fingers. Once his handprint was identified, Pike had access to a keypad. He punched in a series of numbers. A second later the door lock disengaged.

The automatic lighting activated as he stepped into a foyer. With one touch, a darkened screen came to life. A colorful display showed him the status of the warehouse – the temperature, feeds from the hidden security cameras and incoming phone and email messages. Other than an update from Pug on the Triton, he ignored everything else.

He passed through a large room containing his cars and collection of classic motorcycles, and headed for the living area.

The room was sparsely furnished. There was a desk, a couch, a television mounted on the wall and a bed. From a closet, he removed a gym bag and tossed it on the bed. He quickly chose a change of clothes and a leather jacket. He stuffed those into the gym bag. Then from a safe in the back of the closet, he produced a M1911 automatic pistol, identical to the gun he had lost in Somalia. He added two full magazines and put it all in the bag.

On his way out Pike paused for a moment to observe the displays from the exterior cameras. He touched part of the screen to reactivate the warehouse’s sophisticated security system.

When he got outside, he put the gym bag in the Hummer. Before he could climb in the vehicle, he heard a sound from behind him.

Pike whirled and saw the shadowed form of a man. For a split second he regretted putting the .45 in the bag, then he launched himself at the man. Pike ducked his head and got his shoulder against his opponent’s chin. Both men went down. The other man swung a large fist into the side of Pike’s head. Pike managed to roll with it, but the impact still stunned him. He fell on his side and scrambled away. He got to his feet in time to see the other man was also standing. The guy was a little taller and heavier than Pike. And maybe a little slower. He rushed Pike and swung another fist. Pike dropped beneath the blow and used his left to jab the other man’s face. His opponent was staggered. With his weight on his back foot, Pike launched a powerful right that landed squarely on the other man’s nose. Pike felt the crush of cartilage collapsing under his knuckles. The mystery man crumpled to the parking lot.

Pike stepped back. His breathing was calm and even. The other man had fallen within a halo of illumination from the overhead lights.

Pike recognized him.

“Jimmy Swift?”

Swift rolled onto his stomach and got to his knees. It took several shaky seconds for him to stand. He leaned against the Hummer. Blood and mucus dripped from his nose. Otherwise, he looked like the guy Pike had known years ago.

“Jesus, Pike. Most people shake hands. Or do a fist bump.”

“I save my fists for assholes who sneak up on me,” Pike said. “How’s the nose?”

“Broken. Again.” Swift touched the flattened lump and flinched. “I wasn’t sneaking up on you. I was doing you a favor.”

“I’ve seen the favors you and your buddies hand out.”

“The sniper wasn’t my idea, man. And they don’t know I’m here.”

“Why are you here?”

“To give you a heads up. You were always a solid guy, even for the kid of one of the bosses. So I thought you deserved to know.”

“Know what?”

“There’s a traitor inside Ravenscroft. Everything they do, we know about.”

Pike took a menacing step forward.

“Who is it?”

Swift covered his broken nose.

“I don’t know. I’m just muscle. I came here to tell you to bail on this.”

Pike started to speak, but Swift raised a hand to stop him.

“I know you won’t. You were always hard-headed and I guess that hasn’t changed. So I’ll tell you this: watch your back.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Brotherhood has found something. Something bad. It’s too much for me, man. I’m getting out. I just came over with Coptas because of the money.”

“What did they find?”

Swift shook his head, thought better of it, and gingerly touched his nose again.

“I don’t know. The Brotherhood is big, you know, and they like their secrets.”

“So come back and help us, Jimmy,” Pike said.

“‘Us’? You and Germma back together again?” Swift laughed. “Aw, man, that’s too funny.”

“The offer still stands.”

“No thanks. I’m done. I’m going to find some pissant part of the world and do some soldiering. Or maybe I’ll re-up with Uncle Sam. It would be safer than the shit you’re about to get into. Be careful, Pike.”

Swift turned and walked away into the night.

To be Continued

© Mark Justice 2010

Donovan Pike Podcast--Chapter 4

2010-02-07T14:34:00.001-05:00

Click to listen.

Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 4

2010-02-07T14:32:00.001-05:00

The heat of the Florida afternoon and the stench of burning fuel were instantly replaced by the cool air in the foyer of the building.

“Who were those guys, Gemma?” Pike said.

Walking beside him, Gemma smiled. “That is part of the story I’ll get to in a minute.”

“Should I set aside some time to talk to the cops?”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s being handled.”

Ravenscroft Island was officially part of one of the coastal counties. The county Sheriff was an old family friend, and the Ravenscrofts had been very generous to the department and to the Sheriff’s reelection campaigns. Pike knew it was likely he would never speak to anyone in law enforcement regarding the helicopter attack.

When you were with the Ravenscrofts, the rules went out the window And a whole new set of rules came into play.

Ravenscroft rules.

It was one of the reasons he had left. He had moved out years ago, and he hadn’t been back since his father had disappeared with Gemma’s dad in 2008.

Gemma pushed through a door and they entered a room that looked roughly the size of a football field.

“Didn’t this used to be an apartment building?”

“You know it did,” Gemma said. “And you haven’t forgotten the way we celebrated your 16th birthday in my room.”

Pike’s face grew hot. Damn her. Gemma was the only woman who could get to him like this, thanks to their shared history.

“Anyway,” she said with a smile, “we built a new residential building a couple of years back. This is now the headquarters of Special Projects.”

“Special Projects? What’s that mean?”

“Whatever the Director of Special Projects says it does.”

“And the director is....?”

Gemma bowed. “At your service, Mr. Pike.”

She tossed the RPG tube onto a ceramic counter.

At the far end of the room, a small group was seated around a computer workstation.

“People, we need the room for a bit. Head down to the coffee shop and have a latte on me.

The group didn’t seem to find the request to be an imposition. They exited the room smiling and laughing.

“Coffee shop?” Pike said.

“Happy workers are productive workers. By the way, I could use a cup. You?”

The adrenaline rush was wearing off, and Pike realized he was tired from the hours spent traveling.

“Okay. But none of that fancy stuff. I want a cup of coffee. Black.”

Gemma simply stared at him.

“What?” he said.

“You always were the oddest mix of a kid and a grumpy old man.” She picked up a phone and spoke softly into it. “Okay, it’s on the way. Now grab a seat.” She pointed at a number of comfortable-looking leather chairs in the center of the room.

Pike sat down, sinking into the soft material. If the coffee didn’t arrive soon he would probably be asleep before Gemma could tell him what this whole thing was about. He sat up straight and studied the vast room. Computer workstations were prominent at both ends of the room. A number of cubicles were set up against one wall. Another wall held the largest television screen he had ever seen outside of a sports stadium.

A much smaller screen sat on the coffee table in front of him. Gemma plopped down in an adjacent chair.

“Comfy, right? I tried to have a staff meeting right here once, and three of my people dozed off.”

“I didn’t come all this way to talk about your furniture.”

A young man entered the room carrying a tray. He sat two thick white mugs in front of them and departed.

Pike took a sip of the hot coffee. It was strong and black. Perfect. Apparently explosives wasn’t the only thing they could get right.

Gemma ignored her beverage. She produced a small device that looked like a combination of a cell phone and a TV remote control.

“Okay, it’s time to pay attention. What do you remember about La Ciudad de los Dioses?”

Pike shrugged. “What’s to know? It’s a myth. A fairy tale. And the people who do believe in it need a check up from the neck up.”

‘Same old Donovan,” Gemma said. ‘Those people, of course, include your father and my father.”

Pike nodded.

“The story goes that long ago, say a couple of thousand years, strange visitors from the sky appeared to a tribe of Mesoamericans. The visitors built an amazing city filed with magical devices. The visitors and the natives lived in harmony for a hundred years, until they were attacked, either by a larger tribe or another group of sky people. Or both. It’s not clear. The original visitors eventually triumphed, but they knew they could never find let down their guard here. So they hid the city and left, promising to return one day when peace had been achieved. We don’t know if they meant peace among the natives or peace among the sky people.”

Pike snorted. “Isn’t that the plot of George Lucas’s next movie?”

Gemma continued. “We find references to the city from many Mesoamerican civilizations.”

She pushed a button on her remote. On the table, the screen lit up with a series of images, all carvings from Mesoamerican artifacts.

‘Okay,” Pike said, “so the Olemc, the Maya, the Aztecs and the other bloodthirsty pyramid builders share a common mythology. Why is that news?”

“Because of this.”

Another image appeared on the screen.

The scene was the interior of an ancient chamber. The carvings on the wall were definitely Mayan.

“Do you know El Castillo in Belize?” Gemma said.

“Yeah. I was there once. In my college days.” He remembered the large pyramid in the center of the archeological site, and how amazingly precise the workmanship had been.

“You may not have heard about the new find. A temple hidden beneath the pyramid. That’s what you’re looking at.”

“So?”

“So let me give you a closer view of it.”

She tapped the small device. The picture on the table top screen changed, and the large monitor on the wall also came to life.

“Check out the wall screen.”

The display showed Mayan carvings of a half dozen tubular shapes above a pyramid.

“It’s more Chariots of the Gods stuff,” Pike said.

“This is the southwest corner of the chamber. Now look at the bottom right quadrant of the photograph.”

Pike did. There was something different. It was a drawing, not a carving.

“Do you have a closer view?”

Gemma tapped the remote again, and the massive screen was filled with the drawing.

It looked like black paint or a grease pencil. Maybe even a Sharpie.

The image was a circle. In the center of it was an arrow or clock hand in the twelve o’clock position.

But that wasn’t what amazed Pike.

Beneath the circle were a few letters and numbers.

BR JP 2009.

Pike couldn’t speak.

“That shut you up,” Gemma said. Her voice was tight.

BR. Bela Ravenscroft.

JP. Jonathan Pike.

And 2009...

“They were alive,” he finally managed to say. “A year ago, they were still alive.”

“I know you’ve been traveling all day,” Gemma said. “But do you feel like a trip to Belize?”

To be Continued

© Mark Justice 2010

Teaser Art from The Dead Sheriff

2010-02-06T10:00:00.001-05:00

The Dead Sheriff

2010-02-03T11:23:00.005-05:00

Western Dime Novel Tradition Resurrected with New Supernatural Series, 'The Dead Sheriff'

Evileye Books signs horror writer, Mark Justice, to multi-book deal, who will produce both prose fiction and graphic novels. The first comics series will debut in April, followed by book one of the prose line in fall 2010.

Chicago, IL, February 03, 2010 --(PR.com)-- As the saying goes, there's a new sheriff in town.

A walking dead one.

According to legend, The Dead Sheriff was a lawman forced to watch the murders of his family before he was killed. His need for vengeance would not allow him to rest, and he rose from the grave to avenge himself upon his killers. Now he travels across the west, dispensing justice for those in need and sending the wicked to their graves.

He can never return to the grave until the western frontier is free of evil and tyranny.

The reality, however, is a little different….

So goes the premise of horror writer Mark Justice's new supernatural western tales of The Dead Sheriff, a multi-book series of fiction stories with echoes of the pulp and dime adventure novels of the old west.

"The Dead Sheriff stories bring together a few of my interests," said Mark Justice. "I love old pulp western novels and comics, and as a horror writer, it was only a matter of time before I came around to writing a story that blends cowboys and monsters."

Mr. Justice continues, "but I also wanted to explore the stereotypes and metaphors that are tried and true in the classic western tale. Take the hero figure of almost every western since the fifties. The Lone Ranger, The Cisco Kid, John Wayne, Clint Eastwood—all cut the brave, stoic loner against the world. What if the hero wasn't so pretty? What if he was not so lovable? And what of the sidekick: always silent, loyal, not much more than a talking door stop. What if there was more to Tonto, for example, than he ever let on? What? Tonto with an agenda? Most people would say that's absurd and it goes against the literary figure we have come to love. But that's exactly the kind of default characters and symbolism I want to challenge and explore in the series."

The Dead Sheriff combines elements of the supernatural, humor and adventure in a framework that models the adventure dime novels popularized as early as 1860: taking real events or people of the western frontier and embellishing them for the entertainment of the masses. The pioneer, and perhaps most famous dime novels depicting high adventures of the Frontier, were the Beadle's Dime Novels, a series which ran an astounding 321 issues before the dime novel format gave way to an emerging format in the 1920s, the magazine.

"The wonderful thing about The Dead Sheriff," said Evileye Books Editorial Director, A.N. Ommus, "is that at first you're just delighted it's a fun mash-up of popular genres. But then, as you dig into the tradition of the western dime novels, you realize the outlandish potboiler stories—even the format—are the precursors to the modern magazine and comics formats. With The Dead Sheriff, we want to resurrect, as it were, the dime novel tradition and honor its contribution to both fiction and comics."

Under the terms of the deal, Mr. Justice will write a series of graphic novels in the style of the Sunday comics of the thirties and forties, the first of which will debut this April as a series of weekly webcomics on the upcoming Evileye Books Online Reader.

Debuting later this year, the first prose book, The Dead Sheriff: Zombie Damnation, will be published in a similar format to the original dime novels of the nineteenth century.

About Mark Justice

Mark Justice is the author of Deadneck Hootenanny and Dead Earth: The Green Dawn (with David T. Wilbanks). His short fiction has appeared in Damned Nation, In Laymon's Terms, Legends of the Mountain State 1,2 & 3, The Horror Library Vol. 2 & 3, The Avenger Chronicles, Dark Discoveries and many other anthologies and magazines. Mr. Justice edits Story Station, an online Young Adult fiction magazine. He also produces and hosts the popular genre podcast Pod of Horror. His next novel, Dead Earth: The Vengeance Road (with David T. Wilbanks) will be published in 2010 by Permuted Press and his first story collection Looking at the World with Broken Glass in My Eye will appear from Graveside Tales in 2010, as well. He also hosts a morning radio show in Kentucky, where he lives with his wife and cats.

About Evileye Books

Evileye Books, an imprint of Pul+Pixel Entertainment Co., publishes crime, horror, dark fantasy, science fiction and other speculative genres in the spaces of prose and graphic novels.

They are publishers of Bram Stoker Award Winner Mike Oliveri's new supernatural thriller series, "The Pack"; Cullen Bunn and Shawn Lee's dark fantasy series, "Raze"; John Urbancik's supernatural noir series, "DarkWalker"; among others.

Pulp+Pixel Entertainment Co. is an intellectual property rights management company.

Donovan Pike Podcast--Chapter 3

2010-01-24T12:50:00.002-05:00

I'm a week behind, thanks to a brief illness and a couple of other issues. Thanks for the continued support.

Click to listen.

Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 3

2010-01-24T12:48:00.001-05:00

Pike saw Drake’s motionless body on the other side of the SUV. Over the years there had been many times Pike had wished Drake was dead and that Pike himself would be the deliverer of the older man’s demise. But now Pike felt no joy, only puzzlement and a rising anger.

Drake’s left hand twitched.

Pike cursed. He couldn’t leave the wounded man in the open. He stretched his arm beneath the vehicle.

“Drake, grab my hand. I’ll pull you over here,” he said.

The fingers of Drake’s hand twitched once before growing limp.

Drake raised to a crouch. The driver, a young guy named Craft, squatted by the open door. The man in the passenger seat slumped against the dashboard. His blood was splattered on the windshield.

“Close that door,” Pike said.

“Huh?” Craft said. He looked confused, like he couldn’t make sense of what was happening.

The sniper in the helicopter fired again. The shot came at angle through the roof of the SUV and into the top of Craft’s head. Pike was splashed with warm blood and tissue. Craft collapsed.

Pike turned the body to find the shoulder harness, and removed Craft’s handgun. It was a Glock, and it looked new. The sniper put two shots into the pavement near the body. Pike rolled away as fragments of asphalt mushroomed into the air.

He didn’t know what kind of ammo the sniper was using but it was something big. The SUV wouldn’t provide any protection. He had to get away.

But the rear entrance to the building was 50 feet behind him. On the other side of the SUV, the paved driveway quickly became a rocky hill that descended sharply to the Gulf. If he went in either direction he would be easy pickings for the man in the chopper.

Pike crawled forward, hoping the truck’s big engine would make a serviceable shield. As if to mock him, the sniper blew a hole through the truck’s side, just a few inches from Pike’s face.

Who were these guys? Pike had made a lot of enemies over the years, and so had the Ravenscroft family. It irritated him that he might die without knowing why. And the odds that he would survive this fracas were growing smaller by the second.

Another shot punched through the engine block and the quarter panel, this time just above Pike’s head.

He decided to run for the building. Heading for the sea offered no chance of cover and almost certainly assured his death, even if he miraculously avoided a bullet. The other direction gave him a fighting chance. A slim chance, to be sure. But it was something.

He examined Craft’s handgun. It was a Glock 27, with the extended magazine from a Glock 23. He popped the magazine out and saw it was full. He had 15 rounds.

15 empty, futile chances to hit something as far away as the chopper.

The pilot and sniper probably knew that. On the other hand, if someone was shooting at you, your first instinct would be to get out of the way. Of the two men he knew were in the chopper, the sniper likely had the most combat experience. Maybe the pilot would get spooked and make a dumb move. It was a big maybe, but it was all he had.

Pike sprang to his feet and raised the Glock. He added a scream, to make certain he had the attention of the chopper. Despite the distance he could clearly see the pilot. He wore a headset and sunglasses. The sniper leaned through the opening on the port side of the chopper. He also had a headset but no sunglasses. Nothing to mar his vision. He was sighting through the scope for another shot when Pike opened fire.

He aimed high and at the cockpit of the helicopter. He knew his shots fell far shot and would land harmlessly in the Gulf. If the pilot took a second to think about it he would realize the same thing.

Instead, the pilot jerked the stick, spinning the craft almost 90 degrees. The sniper was suddenly facing open water.

It had worked. Pike ran for the building, knowing it would take the chopper only a second or two to return to position. He had covered less than half the distance to the building when the first shot struck the concrete walkway directly in front of him. He instinctively veered to his right, beginning a zig-zagging path to safety.

A hot lance of pain seared his left side, and Pike knew he’d been hit. Almost simultaneously the sidewalk ahead of him cracked like a frozen lake. Either the bullet had passed clean through him or he had just been grazed. He didn’t pause to check.

He changed the angle of his run again. The sniper had the distance now and Pike figured the next shot would land between his shoulders.

The black metal door to the Ravenscroft building flew open. The woman who ran out was tall and thin, with a mane of hair that trailed like a scarlet halo behind her. She was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. Once she cleared the building she raised a silver tube to her shoulder.

Pike saw a flash from the tip of the cylinder and heard a whoosh. He turned his head in time to see a thin trail of smoke flying toward the chopper. The pilot tried to turn the craft again, but it was too late. The object at the head of the jet trail hit the helicopter and there was an explosion.

The chopper hung in the air for a couple of seconds as flames burst from the cockpit and the now-empty door where the sniper had been. Then it fell straight down to the water and disappeared beneath the waves.

Pike stopped running before he collided with the woman. He lifted his shirt. A six-inch furrow had been gouged into his side. The cut was barely bleeding.

“Need a Band-Aid?” the woman said. “We’ve got the kind with pictures of little balloons on them.”

Three men came through the same door the woman had just used. They were dressed in the familiar black outfits.

“The others?” the woman said.

“Drake may still be alive,” Pike said. “Craft and the other guy--” He shook his head.

The woman said something to one of the men, who spoke into a small radio. The other two Ravenscroft employees jogged to the SUV.

Pike nodded at the silver tube the woman now held casually against her leg. “What the hell is that?”

She smiled. “A new RPG we’re working on for the military.”

“What’s the payload?” Pike said, thinking of the size of the explosion that had destroyed the chopper.

She shrugged. “Something big, I guess. Come on, you know that’s not my department.” With her free hand she pointed at the Glock Pike still carried. “Shooting at a chopper with that? What were you thinking?”

“Hey, it worked,” he said, then added, “For a second.”

“You want to know the sad part?” she said. “It wasn’t even the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen you do. As a matter of fact, it’s not even in the top five.”

Pike sighed. He felt like he’d never left this place.

“Thanks for save, Gemma,” he said. “Now can we get this over so I can get back to my life?”

Gemma Ravenscroft smiled and held open the door for him to enter.

To be Continued

© Mark Justice 2010

Donovan Pike Podcast--Chapter 2

2010-01-10T13:54:00.001-05:00

Click to listen.

Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods--Chapter 2

2010-01-10T13:49:00.002-05:00

Drake nodded to one of his men, who produced a knife and cut the plastic ties that bound the Triton’s crew.

Pug was the last to be freed. The instant his restraints were cut away, the little man sprang from his chair like he had been launched from a catapult. His fist landed against the jaw of the man with the knife. The black-garbed intruder collapsed against the deck. His jaw was twisted out of shape.

Drake’s other men raised their weapons. Though unarmed, Pike’s crew tensed for battle.

“Hold it,” Drake said. He motioned to his men. They lowered their guns.

“Sorry, Donovan,” Pug said as he rubbed his knuckles. “That was the prick who snuck up on me. If he hadn’t slugged me first from behind we wouldn’t be in this spot.”

“It’s okay,” Pike said. “This isn’t your fault. Professor Chapin is in the Zodiac. I need you to get him on board. Then take the Triton back home. I’ll be there as soon as I can. “

“Sure thing, boss.” Pug sounded fine, but Pike knew his old friend blamed himself for the capture of the crew.

Pike first met the fierce bulldog of a man when they both served in the military. Pike’s enlistment was short lived due to what his superiors called an unwillingness to take orders. During his time in uniform, he and Pug had fought in a war together. Since then, they had been on the same side in a few unofficial wars.

Pike turned his attention to Drake. “You know how I hate it when you keep me waiting, sweetheart.”

A flicker of emotion crossed Drake’s face and instantly vanished. Good enough, Pike thought. That was the best you could hope for when you dealt with Drake.

Drake used a satellite phone – the Triton’s phone, Pike noticed – to make a brief call. Within minutes Pike heard an approaching plane.

Drake herded his men and Pike to the main deck. One of Drake’s squad helped the man with the broken jaw to his feet.

Pike leaned against the railing on the port side of the deck and watched the lights of a seaplane grow closer. The craft landed smoothly and held its position about 30 feet from the Triton. Thanks to the moonlight he could see the logo on the side of the black plane. It was identical to the design on the tunics Drake and his men wore.

Drake clamped a big hand on Pike’s shoulder. “Time for homecoming, Donny Boy.”

***

Pike sat in the back of the passenger compartment of the Antilles Goose. The seaplane had room to carry six people. Drake was up front next to the pilot. The other men were seated with Pike, including the one with the broken jaw. He turned out to be named Savini. He moaned every time the plane hit turbulence.

A few minutes into the flight, Drake came back to the passenger compartment and dropped into the seat next to Pike. He held a satellite phone.

“It’s for you.”

Pike held the phone to his ear and waited.

“Donovan?”

Pike said nothing.

“Okay, you’re pissed at me. I get that. Really, I do. But this was too important to wait.”

“Still the drama queen,” Pike said.

The woman on the phone sighed. “This is like dealing with a child. As always.”

Pike smiled.

“Then let me get to the point,” the woman said, “since I know you have a short attention span. We found something.”

“‘Something’?”

“It involves La Ciudad de los Dioses.”

“Bullshit.”

“I assume I have your attention?”

“What did you find?”

“I think it’s a message, Donovan. A message from your father.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s better if I show you.”

“Gemma – ”

“I’ll see you in a bit.” The line went dead.

“Damn it.”

Pike handed the phone back to Drake, who accepted it without comment. The older man returned to the cockpit.

Pike suddenly found his seat to be uncomfortable. He shifted restlessly and tried to calm his thoughts.

La Ciudad de los Dioses. It wasn’t possible.

But he knew Gemma Ravenscroft very well. While she certainly had an overdeveloped sense of drama, she was serious about this topic.

He closed his eyes and forced himself to relax.

***

The seaplane landed in Madrid. Pike and the others transferred to a small jet adorned with the Ravenscroft logo. Savini, the man with the broken jaw, was left behind for medical treatment.

It was late afternoon when the jet landed in Fort Meyers. After taxiing to a small private hanger, the passengers were transferred to a black SUV. Pike sat in the back with Drake.

He grew restless again on the drive to the island. When they finally turned onto the long bridge that stretched across the water, Pike thought he was going to come out of his skin. He decided that punching Drake would be very satisfying.

But he stayed still.

Soon, they were on the island, which was dominated by the massive glass and stone headquarters of the Ravenscroft Corporation. When he sighted the buildings, Pike’s first reaction was to quickly head in the other direction. He had spent a lot of time here in his youth, much of it unpleasant. He wasn’t happy to be back.

The SUV stopped behind one of the buildings. The residential quarters. Drake opened his door and stepped out. Pike could smell the salty tang of the Gulf.

“Let’s go,” Drake said. “You’re somebody else’s problem no– ”

Drake made a funny noise, like air squeaking out of a balloon. Pike turned to see him fall to the ground.

He heard the gunshot almost immediately. And he heard the beating thump of a helicopter’s rotor.

Pike climbed out of the SUV. He shielded his eyes from the sun and spotted the chopper. It was painted gunmetal gray. Completely unremarkable. Expect for the sniper leaning out of the side of the craft. Sunlight glinted from the scope of the rifle in the sniper’s hand.

He fired again. The rear window of the SUV exploded.

Pike dived to the pavement.

To be Continued

© Mark Justice 2010

Donovan Pike Plug

2010-01-09T10:14:00.004-05:00

Thanks to Bill Thom at Coming Attractions, the pulp field's number one source for news, for the mention of Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods. Bill updates the site every Friday night with the latest pulp-related data. It's amazing that so much is happening in the field, and I usually end up making a purchase or two after reading each week's column.

Update

2010-01-08T08:26:00.003-05:00

Chapter 2 goes up Sunday, along with the podcast. I appreciate all the feedback.

Here's the blurb for the novel, as it would appear on the back cover of a cheap paperback on a spinner rack at the drugstore:

Ten years ago, the father of Donovan Pike disappeared while searching for the City of the Gods, a mythical metropolis that legend says contains technology from the stars. Now a clue turns up that could mean Pike’s father is alive, and the City of the Gods is real.

The adventurer must team up with an old enemy to battle a dark army that will stop at nothing to prevent Pike from finding his father and discovering the location of an ancient city that will change the world – or destroy it.

Donovan Pike Podcast--Chapter 1

2010-01-05T15:02:00.003-05:00

I'll be podcasting each chapter of Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods. To listen to Chapter 1, click. here.

Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods

2010-01-03T20:13:00.011-05:00

Chapter 1

Donovan Pike felt the wind from the bullet as it zipped past by his ear. He hunkered down and increased the throttle. The Zodiac leapt across the uneasy waves.

“They don’t seem inclined to let us leave peacefully.” The speaker crouched down in the big rubber boat. A battered leather satchel was clasped tightly by liver-spotted hands.

Pike smiled. With his free hand he wiped a trickle of blood from his lower lip. The wind whipped his black hair. He stood well over six feet all and had to squat down to make a smaller target for their pursuers. He was thankful the moon was hidden by the clouds. At least that was in their favor.

“Professor, when we reach the Triton, it won’t matter,” Pike said. “Hang on to that bag and keep your head down.”

As if to punctuate Pike’s words, more gunfire sounded in the distance. Something shattered on the Zodiac’s instrument panel, and Pike responded by pulling the wheel hard to starboard. After a moment he turned back to port, continuing a weaving motion that he hoped would increase their odds. The night was dark and he wanted to make it difficult for the men who followed them to take aim.

The Triton, Pike’s personal yacht, was waiting less than a mile into the Indian Ocean, off the coast of Somalia. That was the plan, and Pike never doubted that Pug and his crew would be ready.

Pike yanked a small radio from a mount next to the wheel. The device didn’t have a tremendous range, but the Triton should be close enough to hear him.

“Pug, we’re coming in and we’ve brought some friends. I need you and the boys up top to give us some cover.”

Pike waited a few seconds for a response. When none came, he keyed the radio a second time.

“Pug? You read?”

The only answer was another bullet flying overhead.

“Donovan, is there a problem with your ship?” Professor Jefferson Chapin’s voice was relaxed, even though he squatted in a wet boat while bullets zipped past him. Pike knew if there was more light, his old mentor would look tired and ill.

“We’ll see in a minute,” Pike said. He was committed to protecting Professor Chapin, even though the man would be dead in a matter of months, if not weeks. When he asked Pike to accompany him to Somalia, Chapin had disclosed his illness and his prognosis.

Chapin had been an anchor for Pike several years ago when the younger man had been lost and without purpose. The two bonded over a mutual love for Chapin’s areas of expertise: history and archeology. Chapin’s passion had always been the early Somali civilization, one of the oldest in the world. Somalia had an ancient written language that had never been deciphered. But that was about to change. Professor Chapin had been contacted by a source within the country who claimed to have what had been a mere rumor for decades, a Rosetta stone for the ancient Somali language. Like the original stone discovered in the 19th century, this artifact was said to be inscribed with a dedication written in not only the ancient Somali language but also in Greek and Egyptian, two cultures the early Somalis regularly traded with.

Chapin’s contact couldn’t leave the country. But he would be happy to meet Chapin and turn over the artifact for a reasonable consideration in the form of gold.

Pike and Chapin landed on Somalia’s northeastern shore at night and easily found Chapin’s contact, a small wiry man with the nervous demeanor of a drug addict. The transaction went smoothly until the following night, when it was time to depart. Chapin’s contact apparently shared the news of his recent good fortune, and the local warlord wanted his share.

Pike and Chapin were ambushed as they approached the hidden Zodiac. The attackers were four in number. Pike dispatched two with his favorite weapon, the reliable M1911 automatic, before the gun was knocked from his hand and lost in the darkness. Pike had to subdue the remaining two thugs with his fists before he and Chapin could put out to sea. Pike ended up with sore knuckles, but was filled with the exhilaration he always got when faced with physical danger.

“Donovan, I fear our ‘friends’ are growing closer,” Professor Chapin said.

Pike risked a glance behind him. Less than a hundred yards away, their pursuers were in a cigarette boat, that favorite of drug runners back in the Miami Vice era. Ordinarily, the fiberglass go-fast boat would easily catch the Zodiac. Pike suspected this particular craft had been poorly maintained. And the Zodiac was faster than the standard model, thanks to some engine modifications by Pug.

Despite the gloom, Pike was pretty sure the cigarette boat only carried two men. Two armed men. From their silhouettes, he suspected the Somalis had a couple of old bolt action rifles. Old but reliable. Those .22 caliber rounds weren’t fancy, but they would get the job done if they hit the right spot.

“Sit tight, Professor. Our salvation is dead ahead.”

The Triton’s running lights were visible just just off the Zodiac's bow. Even if the radio was dead – which seemed unlikely – Pug and the others should be on deck watching for him.

The guns of the Somali thugs grew silent. They, too, had spotted the Triton, and were likely waiting to see what kind of response was coming from the yacht.

“Professor,” Pike said, “when I come to a stop, lay flat and put that satchel with the artifact over your head. Don’t move until I say it’s okay.”

“Whatever you say.”

The running lights provided enough illumination for Pike to get a fair idea of the location of the Triton’s ladder. He jerked the wheel and threw the engine intro reverse. In one motion, he put the Zodiac into neutral, then launched himself at the ladder.

He was only off by a few inches. He grabbed the right side of the ladder with his left hand, swung his body over and scampered up the rungs. Within seconds he was on the main deck. It was empty.

He would have to worry about the crew later. Pike flipped up the seat of a bench and removed two objects.

The first was an HK417 assault rifle, capable of firing 600 round per minute. Pike didn’t plan to waste that much ammo on his pursuers. He stood quietly for a few seconds. The Somali pilot killed his engine. In the stillness of the night Pike heard the water lapping against the fiberglass hull of the smaller boat and the furtive whispers of two men.

He fired a short burst across what he hoped was the bow of the boat, then fell to the deck and rolled to his left. He popped up six feet away and peeked over the rail in time to see the muzzle flashes as the Somalis returned fire. Bullets smacked against the Triton’s superstructure very close to where Pike had been standing.

Now that he knew the position of his enemy Pike lifted the other object he had removed from the bench. The RKG-3 anti-tank hand grenade wasn’t a very sophisticated weapon but it was brutally effective.

Pike raised the cylindrical device to his mouth, grasped the pin between his teeth and pulled. He hurled the Russian-made grenade into a high arc, where it was instantly lost in the darkness. He knew from experience that the tiny four-panel parachute had opened and the RKG-3 was drifting down toward the cigarette boat. Pike dropped to the deck again.

Within seconds the night was ablaze with a spectacular light, followed almost instantly by the hollow thump of an explosion. Small pieces of debris slapped against the Triton’s hull.

Pike ran back to the bench. He removed two flares, ignited them and tossed them over the rail.

The Zodiac appeared to be untouched. Beyond it, the water’s surface was covered with the wreckage of the cigarette boat.

“Professor! You okay?” he called.

“As well as can be expected,” Chapin answered. “Permission to come aboard?”

“Not just yet,” Pike said. “Hang tight.”

Pike retrieved the assault rifle. He carefully stepped through the aft entrance to the salon. The large room was empty. He moved to the next door and entered the galley.

The Triton’s galley was open and comfortable. When Pike had the yacht built, he knew he would be spending most of his time here with a small crew, and he wanted that time to be enjoyable. The galley was outfitted with a state of the art kitchen, a massive oak dining table and large, study chairs.

Tied into four of those chairs were his crew. Short, barrel-chested Pug Benson, the Maynard twins and Andre Romanov, the ship’s chef, were gagged with duct tape. Their arms had been secured behind them to the back of the chair by the type of plastic ties used by law enforcement.

“Easy with that gun, boy,” a gruff voice said.

Four figures stepped forward. They had been huddled together in a dark corner of the room. Dressed all in black, each man’s tunic was adorned with an insignia, the silhouette of a black bird in flight over a scarlet, stylized letter R.

The speaker was older than Pike. His steel-gray hair was worn in a crewcut. He had a scar beneath his left eye.

Pike knew him well.

“Thank God it’s you, Drake,” Pike said. “From the smell in here, I thought Andre let the meat spoil.”

Drake smiled. “We came to take you home, Donny.”

“No thanks,” Pike said.

“The boss is very insistent.”

“When you get back you can tell her to go to hell.”

“She said we couldn’t mess you up,” Drake said. “She didn’t say anything about your playmates.” He removed a handgun from his holster and placed it against Pug’s head.

Drake’s other men produced their own guns, which they used to cover the other three members of the Triton’s crew.

Pike's pulse throbbed in his neck. This was his boat, and he was strongly tempted to unleash hell with a gentle squeeze of the trigger. Damn the consequences.

He drew in a breath before lowering the assault rifle to the deck.

“Okay, I’ll go,” he said. “But I owe you a serious ass-kicking.”

To Be Continued

© 2010 Mark Justice

So It Begins

2010-01-03T20:00:00.000-05:00

Welcome again to Pulp Nocturne.

I grew up with the pulp adventures of Doc Savage, The Shadow and The Avenger. I even published a Doc Savage fanzine with a high school friend, back in the 70s. In that one issue I began a Doc Savage pastiche novel which, thankfully, remains unfinished and forgotten.

I moved on to different forms of fiction, but I always came back to the pulps, having discovered G-8, Operator #5 and The Spider. I also enjoy modern pulp fiction, particularly the works of Clive Cussler and, more recently, James Rollins.

When I started writing for publication, it was initially in the horror field, with an occasional foray into science fiction. As in my reading, though, I came back to the pulps.

I plan to use this blog to serialize new pulp fiction. Some of the stories will have a contemporary setting, like our initial offering. A future project will be set in the blood and thunder 1930s pulp world.

Regardless of the era, my goal is to bring you tales of two-fisted adventure, venomous villains and larger-than-life heroes.

I hope you have fun with the stories. I know I will.

Thanks to Walt Hicks for the name of this blog. Walt came up with the Pulp Nocturne moniker for an aborted project we were both involved with. He graciously allowed me to use it here.

Coming in January

2009-05-10T09:23:00.009-04:00

Donovan Pike and The City of the Gods, beginning January 3, 2010.

Welcome to Pulp Nocturne

2009-05-05T10:22:00.000-04:00

Coming soon, a serialized novel of modern-day pulp adventure. Stay tuned!