Life Engine

Rick Baker

Description

Shes a hurricane. Hes a pariah. The world is in their hands. THE LIFE ENGINE is a tremendous debut novel. The twists and turns were riveting... (I) couldnt put it down. Rick Baker is a hot new talent in the publishing world. (Stephen Frey, New York Times Best Selling Author)Ian Wolfe is a man disgraced. The former Olympic decathlete went from cereal boxes to tabloids after a doping scandal, and he hopes a second career as a CIA officer can get him back in Americas good graces. April Gentry is a woman on a mission. Shes a world-renowned ethnobotanist, and shes made it her calling to fulfill her late fathers legacy by bringing a life-altering medication from the Amazon to the general public.And though he is the last person on earth she wants to trust, when Gentry is wrongly accused of hacking into a CIA satellite, Wolfe is the only person whos willing to fight to clear her name. Theres just one catch: hell have to defy the agency that gave him a second chance to do it.Pursued by every law enforcement agency in America, as well as a mysterious man who thinks hes one of the angels of the apocalypse, Wolfe and Gentry must race across two continents calling on ancient arts to advanced tech to survive. Failure wont just put them in danger. Aprils very life is in Wolfes hands.The Life Engine is an ecological thriller that takes government action through a Da Vinci Code-like puzzle by way of the Amazon rainforest. Witty, atmospheric, possessing uncommon depth. If you like fast-paced environmental suspense, thought-provoking plots, and breathless action, then youll love Rick Bakers intrigue-laced debut novel. Buy The Life Engine to start the international adventure today!

Sujets

• Adventure (Guyana)
• Adventure

Informations

• Publié par: eBookIt.com
• Date de parution: 09 août 2015
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781456625511
• Langue: English

Extrait

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

 
This book is dedicated to my family.
 
And to those heroes who whispered their secrets,
entrusted me with their stories,
poured out their very lives to
protect the places and people they love.
 
I only hope my efforts are worthy
of their sacrifice.

 
 
Copyright © 2015 Rick Baker Books
All Rights Reserved

 

Cover design by Natasha Show
Final Edits by Kevin Miller & Campbell Wood
The Life Engine
Table of contents

Chapter 1 Into the Silence

Chapter 2 April Showers

Chapter 3 The State of Conflict

Chapter 4 O Homem Verde

Chapter 5 God’s Camera

Chapter 6 Fathers and Sins

Chapter 7 The Devil is in the Details

Chapter 8 Highway to Hell

Chapter 9 Death Walk

Chapter 10 The Strings Attached

Chapter 11 En Secreto

Chapter 12 Bullseye

Chapter 13 Manna

Chapter 14 Oblivion

Chapter 15 God Shed His Grace

Chapter 16 The Full Effect

Chapter 17 Drops of Pain

Chapter 18 The Messenger

Chapter 19 Garbage

Chapter 20 Crack in the Universe

Chapter 21 Toxic Roulette

Chapter 22 Conscience

Chapter 23 Sword of Damocles

Chapter 24 Arise and Go

Chapter 25 Eye in the Sky

Chapter 26 Shaman’s Blood

Chapter 27 Recycled

Chapter 28 The Noose

Chapter 29 The Slip

Chapter 30 Duty

Chapter 31 Houdini

Chapter 32 B E

Chapter 33 Miles and Miles

Chapter 34 Jezebel

Chapter 35 A Kiss is Just a Kiss

Chapter 36 Queen to Rook

Chapter 37 Roadie

Chapter 38 Pisgah

Chapter 39 Words and Weapons

Chapter 40 Bloodlines

Chapter 41 Call to the Post

Chapter 42 Castle Keep

Chapter 43 The Fall

Chapter 44 Death Hunters

Chapter 45 Guitar God

Chapter 46 All You Need is Love

Chapter 47 Broadcast

Chapter 48 Truth

Chapter 49 Sweet Earlene

Chapter 50 River Wide, River Deep

Chapter 51 Angel of Death

Chapter 52 Pressure

Chapter 53 The Last Laugh

Chapter 54 Breath

Chapter 55 What I Remember Most About Dying

Chapter 56 Renewal

Epilogue
In a dark auditorium,
the voice of Dr. April Gentry . . .

 

“Imagine you ’ re on a long space voyage
with your family and ten thousand others.
You kiss your daughter goodnight.
Then, as she lies sleeping, you
destroy one-fifth of the ship ’ s
oxygen-generation system . . .
Prologue: Ori Weyu

Guiana Highlands, Brazil

At three in the morning, April Gentry was still waiting for her pilot at the Homoxi airfield in northern Brazil. The place was little more than a 100-yard strip of dusty hardpack. No lights. No terminal. Just an old shanty to keep the rain off the shortwave radio, hand-cranked Texaco gas pumps left over from World War II and a field littered with abandoned aircraft bodies scavenged for parts to patch up machines still worthy of the sky.

Wind whipped at April’s hair as she blinked away the stinging grit and fought the strain of twenty hours of nonstop travel. No matter how long the journey, once she arrived, she was content just to be here.
Wild things lurked in the fringe of trees, grunts and hoots that knew her name, air thick with must and spice and sound. This place, this portal to the wild world, was still teaching her lessons. It was impossible to get here in a hurry, and April could only persuade herself to leave by promising to carry its story, whisper its miracles to that other world, the world drunk on consumption.
Dressed in functional clothes—her favorite trekking shirt, lightweight boots, and Rail-rider pants—April could pass for a journalist, a safari tour guide, or Indiana Jones’ long lost daughter. She was, in fact, a doctor of environmental science and the youngest member of the Earth Sciences Directorate for NASA’s Goddard Space Institute—a mouthful of titles for a woman just shy of thirty.
As the wind scattered chaff across the clearing, childhood images swirled in April’s mind. Making rounds to local villages on her first trip to Homoxi with her father.
The eyes of children, agog at her appearance.
A hunter offering a pull of his bowstring.
A wise woman’s pierced-lipped smile, bidding April to come grind flour with her and the other women.
A warrior mugging his scariest face. Be afraid of me, pale girl .
Something about this night summoned the full essence of her father. Not just his cooing words as he spoke word kisses in her ear or the way his hands never left her shoulders or how he gave her his eyes whenever she had questions— and she had so many questions . It was the way the green-black darkness seemed to call her back, the whispers of the past mingling with the voices of the wind.
April’s home school was a place where little girls dipped arrows in poison, sparked fires with flint, and skinned animals for pots boiling with frothy stews. Recess was splashing beneath a waterfall where a decrepit crocodile kept guard on the banks. (They were only allowed to swim when they could see him.)
April reached for the wooden pendant around her neck and rubbed her thumb and forefinger across its ancient surface. It was a gift from her father’s lifelong friend and partner, Emilio Cortez.
“It’s an honor to finally meet you, Señor Cortez.” April had said when she first met him. He looked like a bear with Buddha’s smile.
Cortez howled at her formality and hugged her as if she were one of his cubs. “Kids call me ‘Big Papa’.”
At the evening meal, Cortez sized up his young protégé. “The children call you Ori Weyu . One of the tribal languages. It means ‘Sun Girl’. Do you like this name?”
April beamed as he presented her to the tribe. Ori Weyu. The ancient name made her feel like she belonged.
Tonight was the first time April could remember landing in Homoxi without making direct contact with her extended forest family. The hunters were out there, no doubt, scratching their heads over her odd behavior. She was counting on their natural caution. They would keep to the shadows. Tonight’s journey was hers alone.
In time, a Russian-made Gaz pickup truck appeared, leaf springs squeaking as it shuddered to a stop. The door banged shut, and the driver hobbled toward her.
April stepped out from the shadows. He was not the pilot she expected.
“You’re late, and you’re not Juan.”
The pilot patted a meaty hand on his chest. “I am Arvelo, Juan’s partner. Dragging a bad foot around, but still good to fly.”
April studied his eyes and then looked at the fresh cast on his left foot, which he waggled proudly before her. Behind Arvelo, a swish of wind murmured through the Kapok trees. Her senses were tuned to every sound.
“You know, Juan and me, we cover for each other sometimes,” Arvelo explained.
April smiled like it didn’t matter. She could fly almost any plane, but there were tricky landings, and she preferred to keep her focus on the sky, scanning for anyone who might be tagging along. Once in the air, there would be no turning back.
She circled Arvelo. He twisted his head to maintain “smile contact.”
She did not like the switch in pilots, but she had no doubt this was the partner Juan had described: bent nose, reddish skin, Beatles haircut, dented Batman lunchbox—a favorite possession he carried everywhere. His body was strong, but his shoulders were hunched, projecting a hobbled, worn appearance. Was he hiding something? It was difficult to tell upon first meeting. Behind Arvelo’s easy manner, his eyes were haunted and dark. Not all that unusual for a bush pilot. They were the gypsies of the air.
In the end, the cast on his foot settled it.
“You can fly this thing?” April indicated the Amelia Earhart-era pontoon plane behind her. “It’s a de Havilland DHC-2 Beaver.”
“Sure, I fly everything, but see,” he stabbed at the only other plane in view, “that’s my charter. Put her down last night. She’s fueled and ready to go. Air conditioning, full navs, the works.”
“Mind raising your arms for me?”
Arvelo raised his arms cooperatively. “You’re pretty for a biologist, and real thorough.”
“Juan told you I was a biologist?”
“I get CNN. Juan sorta told me he flies you around to collect plants and stuff. I’m supposed to keep quiet, right?”
April clicked on a small LED flashlight. “Uh-huh, just like Juan. What’s in the lunch pail, any electronics, phones, location gear, camera?”
“Peanut butter sandwich. I got low blood sugar.” He opened the lunch box and held out a sandwich. “Got an extra if you want one.”
  April waved off the sandwich, giving a cursory glance inside the old duffel bag at his feet. “You ready?” She opened the de Havilland’s junk door, jammed the duffel bag inside, and moved around to take the copilot’s seat.
Arvelo pushed off the wheel step, lurched into the pilot’s chair, and clicked the door shut. He pulled the choke and hit the ignition. The engine gave a throaty growl.
“I’ve flown many such antiques here in the bush,” Arvelo said, raising his voice above the engine. “At a German air show, I even flew a World War Two biplane. These things are cool. It’s just, no navs.”
“I’m the navigation,” April said, closing the matter. She felt one last tug of worry but pushed it aside. In minutes, they were soaring into the star-strewn sky.
The rising sun fluoresced the sky to robin’s egg blue. The de Havilland zigzagged like a metal firefly, leaving a smoky trail. Under April’s turn-by-turn directions, the morning route consisted of high altitude circling, half a dozen water landings, and hours of waiting for signs of anyone following.
The cool morning gave way to a searing afternoon. Waves of heat shimmered beneath the plan