TECHNOPATH - BOOK 2 of THE GODS TRILOGY
Captain Stephanie Kane is having a bad few months. It’s her first year leading the Information Warfare section in London and she is struggling to prevent relentless computer attacks from an American calling himself the Patriot. His cyber-guerrilla warfare campaign is as devastating as it is brilliant and leaves her team reeling.
Just as she is making headway, she is torn away to work on a highly secretive psionic programme with the repellent Major Richter. When he mentions the words telekinesis and David Leighson, her trigger finger starts itching.
As her security clearance increases, Stephanie quickly discovers new things to worry about. Like Scarlett Harley, a teenage girl with the game-changing ability to influence and control technology. In a high-tech world, she is a god. In the Patriot’s hands though, she could be the ultimate weapon of mass destruction.
Stephanie will rely on her new psionic agency, a jaded intelligence agent and a Russian clone. Together they may well be able to stop a cyber-terrorist, but now they are facing someone exponentially more dangerous.
A technopath…
Read the first two chapters of TECHNOPATH below...
Prologue
The radio crackled, a mixture of static and a sharp intake of breath. ‘Oh, God no.’
Stephanie Kane grabbed for the receiver. ‘Report,’ she commanded. Her only reply was the muffled sound of a distant gun shot.
Almost immediately the ground started to shake. Stephanie was thrown off of her feet as she tried in vain to keep her balance. Around her, parked vehicles moved as far as several feet, their alarms immediately filling the night air with a shrill and deafening cacophony of noise.
‘What’s happening?’ Stephanie barked into the radio again. After several seconds without a response, she scrambled to her feet and drew her service pistol.
Dust filled the night air, as the concrete buildings around her started to crumble. She glanced at the main door of the nearest building, weighing up her chances of getting inside, doing what she needed to do and getting back out again before the whole building came down around her.
Another violent quake made the decision for her. She backed away and reached for her radio again.
‘Command. I have two operatives down, no radio response. There have been a number of explosions or an earthquake or something. The road is a mess, so I can only imagine the carnage inside the building.’ Her voice was strained, struggling to shout over the noise of the alarms.
The response was instant. ‘Confirmed. Are you ok?’
Stephanie sighed. ‘Yes, Colonel, I was outside. Matilda and Serene were on point, I think in a basement room. There was a gunshot then everything went to hell.
‘Were they definitely explosions or could Matilda have lost control?’
Stephanie paled. She dropped the radio and ran towards the building.
Long minutes later she stumbled out of the building again, coated in white dust and with a glistening red cut above her eye. She picked up the franticly squawking radio.
‘They are all dead,’ she managed.
‘Finally, you’re back.’ The Colonel’s voice was heavy with relief. ‘Report.’
‘Serene is down. Executed at close range by a gunshot to the head. It’s… bad down there. It wasn’t an explosion.’
‘What is Matilda’s status?’
‘She’s gone,’ Stephanie whispered. ‘She killed them all, tore up the place and destroyed half of the street. It looks like a total loss of control.’
There was a long silence. ‘Jesus Christ,’ the Colonel finally hissed. ‘We need to find her and fast.’
A third voice came over the radio surprising them both. It was quiet and emotional.
‘You don’t want to try and find me. I am going to do what I need to do and you would be best to stay out of my way.’
‘Matilda…’ Stephanie began.
‘Stay out of my way,’ Matilda repeated.
A car lifted six feet off of the ground and flipped over before smashing into the ground, filling the air with broken glass and twisted metal. Stephanie leapt for cover behind a low garden wall.
After several minutes, the quakes calmed and the alarms all stopped at once, leaving an eerie silence in their wake.
Stephanie walked into the street, dazed. She slumped against a crookedly parked vehicle, her head in her hands.
‘She’s gone.’
***
Six months previously…
Patriot
I can't remember the last time I managed to grab more than a few hours sleep. It's hard to count sheep when the buzzards are circling and the wolves are at your heels.
The constant fatigue is taking its toll. I'm a mess. The cold sweats won’t quit and I am walking in blood soaked shoes. I draw on my anger to carry on, the adrenaline in my veins keeping me on course.
In a different life, I was used to the finer things in life, to luxury hotels with infinity beds and attentive concierges. Quite a contrast to the dives I hunker down in now.
The world has changed and not for the better. The fascists in Europe grow ever more powerful, exerting more control over the rest of the world with every day they are permitted to exist.
The once proud America is humbled. A shadow with Alzheimer’s, trying to cling onto what it faintly remembers as its culture and former glory. We are left with gangsters and militias. Gangs and religious cults.
The major cities are hellish. I try to avoid them when I can. It's better in the country. Small communities trying to get along the best way they can, in most cases ruled with the iron doctrine of the believers in God Almighty.
They've missed the point of course. God doesn't live here anymore. He moved back to the Old World some time ago now and didn't leave a forwarding address.
I can play my part well though. I have perfected the pious stranger, just passing through town, but grateful for some old fashioned small town hospitality. They fall over themselves to share their corn bread and milk. The women will fuss around me, while the preacher wears a serious expression.
'Can it really be as bad as they say?' He will ask me, while the deputies stare into the distance, shotguns in the crook of their arms.
My answer is always the same. 'Worse.'
Sometimes they have an internet connection. They will show it to me proudly and tell me about the propaganda they have read as if it's new scripture. They will spout crap about planned European Aid or how the North are looking to mend the rift with us in the South. I will smile politely and ask if I can just have a few minutes on the computer to catch up with a few things. When they leave I work my magic and unleash hell; sometimes on the North, sometimes on Europe or one of their Commonwealth puppets.
I make sure that my online actions have a delay built in of course. Can't make it too easy for the authorities to track me. I normally have a week or even a month or so before the US Marshalls and Bounty Hunters arrive in Nowhere, USA asking questions about the nice stranger who passed through.
Even so, it's important not to overstay my welcome. The town is just as happy to wave me off as it was to welcome a fellow man of Faith. Perhaps even more so.
When the Cities can't be avoided, I have to play a very different role. That of the ghost. Mistrust of strangers isn’t the problem anymore. Everyone is a stranger. Anyone can be a target. It's worst in the old ghettos, where I've heard "dog eat dog" isn't so far from the truth. It's fair to say I keep my City Breaks fairly brief these days. In, upload and out.
I have more reason than most to keep a low profile. I am not bragging, but any one of the Gang-Lords or Militia Chiefs would lay waste to half of their domain to get their hands on me. The price on my head is considerable.
I am the most wanted man in America. Certainly the most wanted in Europe. There are other countries along the way I have caused some problems for too. One thing is for sure... They are right to fear me. Right to hunt me.
I am a very dangerous man.
I chuckle to myself as I limp along the side of the road. Yeah, I'm a real badass.
The temperature is picking up now as the Sun decides it's over dawn and gets started in earnest. The road stretches ahead into infinity. Looking around me, it could be any time or era. There's little to suggest we are only a few decades from creeping into the 22nd century. Well, limping is more accurate than creeping for us Americans. It amuses me for a moment to think of myself; battered, shattered and angry, as a fair metaphor for America in general.
I hear a familiar quiet rumble from behind me. I turn and squint into the distance. A smile comes to my lips as my intuition is confirmed. A truck is coming. I quickly do my best to make myself vaguely presentable before it gets close and I stand with the thumb of my right hand extended.
The truck thunders towards me before suddenly braking and coming to a stop. The side window is rolled down and the grizzled driver looks me up and down.
'Yeah ok,' he says, any preceding conversation unspoken.
I give him my best smile. 'Thanks friend, you won't regret it.'
He rolls his eyes as if to suggest he already is.
I climb into the cab and shake his hand. I settle into the seat and almost sigh with relief. Life is looking up for a while.
Just as she is making headway, she is torn away to work on a highly secretive psionic programme with the repellent Major Richter. When he mentions the words telekinesis and David Leighson, her trigger finger starts itching.
As her security clearance increases, Stephanie quickly discovers new things to worry about. Like Scarlett Harley, a teenage girl with the game-changing ability to influence and control technology. In a high-tech world, she is a god. In the Patriot’s hands though, she could be the ultimate weapon of mass destruction.
Stephanie will rely on her new psionic agency, a jaded intelligence agent and a Russian clone. Together they may well be able to stop a cyber-terrorist, but now they are facing someone exponentially more dangerous.
A technopath…
Read the first two chapters of TECHNOPATH below...
Prologue
The radio crackled, a mixture of static and a sharp intake of breath. ‘Oh, God no.’
Stephanie Kane grabbed for the receiver. ‘Report,’ she commanded. Her only reply was the muffled sound of a distant gun shot.
Almost immediately the ground started to shake. Stephanie was thrown off of her feet as she tried in vain to keep her balance. Around her, parked vehicles moved as far as several feet, their alarms immediately filling the night air with a shrill and deafening cacophony of noise.
‘What’s happening?’ Stephanie barked into the radio again. After several seconds without a response, she scrambled to her feet and drew her service pistol.
Dust filled the night air, as the concrete buildings around her started to crumble. She glanced at the main door of the nearest building, weighing up her chances of getting inside, doing what she needed to do and getting back out again before the whole building came down around her.
Another violent quake made the decision for her. She backed away and reached for her radio again.
‘Command. I have two operatives down, no radio response. There have been a number of explosions or an earthquake or something. The road is a mess, so I can only imagine the carnage inside the building.’ Her voice was strained, struggling to shout over the noise of the alarms.
The response was instant. ‘Confirmed. Are you ok?’
Stephanie sighed. ‘Yes, Colonel, I was outside. Matilda and Serene were on point, I think in a basement room. There was a gunshot then everything went to hell.
‘Were they definitely explosions or could Matilda have lost control?’
Stephanie paled. She dropped the radio and ran towards the building.
Long minutes later she stumbled out of the building again, coated in white dust and with a glistening red cut above her eye. She picked up the franticly squawking radio.
‘They are all dead,’ she managed.
‘Finally, you’re back.’ The Colonel’s voice was heavy with relief. ‘Report.’
‘Serene is down. Executed at close range by a gunshot to the head. It’s… bad down there. It wasn’t an explosion.’
‘What is Matilda’s status?’
‘She’s gone,’ Stephanie whispered. ‘She killed them all, tore up the place and destroyed half of the street. It looks like a total loss of control.’
There was a long silence. ‘Jesus Christ,’ the Colonel finally hissed. ‘We need to find her and fast.’
A third voice came over the radio surprising them both. It was quiet and emotional.
‘You don’t want to try and find me. I am going to do what I need to do and you would be best to stay out of my way.’
‘Matilda…’ Stephanie began.
‘Stay out of my way,’ Matilda repeated.
A car lifted six feet off of the ground and flipped over before smashing into the ground, filling the air with broken glass and twisted metal. Stephanie leapt for cover behind a low garden wall.
After several minutes, the quakes calmed and the alarms all stopped at once, leaving an eerie silence in their wake.
Stephanie walked into the street, dazed. She slumped against a crookedly parked vehicle, her head in her hands.
‘She’s gone.’
***
Six months previously…
Patriot
I can't remember the last time I managed to grab more than a few hours sleep. It's hard to count sheep when the buzzards are circling and the wolves are at your heels.
The constant fatigue is taking its toll. I'm a mess. The cold sweats won’t quit and I am walking in blood soaked shoes. I draw on my anger to carry on, the adrenaline in my veins keeping me on course.
In a different life, I was used to the finer things in life, to luxury hotels with infinity beds and attentive concierges. Quite a contrast to the dives I hunker down in now.
The world has changed and not for the better. The fascists in Europe grow ever more powerful, exerting more control over the rest of the world with every day they are permitted to exist.
The once proud America is humbled. A shadow with Alzheimer’s, trying to cling onto what it faintly remembers as its culture and former glory. We are left with gangsters and militias. Gangs and religious cults.
The major cities are hellish. I try to avoid them when I can. It's better in the country. Small communities trying to get along the best way they can, in most cases ruled with the iron doctrine of the believers in God Almighty.
They've missed the point of course. God doesn't live here anymore. He moved back to the Old World some time ago now and didn't leave a forwarding address.
I can play my part well though. I have perfected the pious stranger, just passing through town, but grateful for some old fashioned small town hospitality. They fall over themselves to share their corn bread and milk. The women will fuss around me, while the preacher wears a serious expression.
'Can it really be as bad as they say?' He will ask me, while the deputies stare into the distance, shotguns in the crook of their arms.
My answer is always the same. 'Worse.'
Sometimes they have an internet connection. They will show it to me proudly and tell me about the propaganda they have read as if it's new scripture. They will spout crap about planned European Aid or how the North are looking to mend the rift with us in the South. I will smile politely and ask if I can just have a few minutes on the computer to catch up with a few things. When they leave I work my magic and unleash hell; sometimes on the North, sometimes on Europe or one of their Commonwealth puppets.
I make sure that my online actions have a delay built in of course. Can't make it too easy for the authorities to track me. I normally have a week or even a month or so before the US Marshalls and Bounty Hunters arrive in Nowhere, USA asking questions about the nice stranger who passed through.
Even so, it's important not to overstay my welcome. The town is just as happy to wave me off as it was to welcome a fellow man of Faith. Perhaps even more so.
When the Cities can't be avoided, I have to play a very different role. That of the ghost. Mistrust of strangers isn’t the problem anymore. Everyone is a stranger. Anyone can be a target. It's worst in the old ghettos, where I've heard "dog eat dog" isn't so far from the truth. It's fair to say I keep my City Breaks fairly brief these days. In, upload and out.
I have more reason than most to keep a low profile. I am not bragging, but any one of the Gang-Lords or Militia Chiefs would lay waste to half of their domain to get their hands on me. The price on my head is considerable.
I am the most wanted man in America. Certainly the most wanted in Europe. There are other countries along the way I have caused some problems for too. One thing is for sure... They are right to fear me. Right to hunt me.
I am a very dangerous man.
I chuckle to myself as I limp along the side of the road. Yeah, I'm a real badass.
The temperature is picking up now as the Sun decides it's over dawn and gets started in earnest. The road stretches ahead into infinity. Looking around me, it could be any time or era. There's little to suggest we are only a few decades from creeping into the 22nd century. Well, limping is more accurate than creeping for us Americans. It amuses me for a moment to think of myself; battered, shattered and angry, as a fair metaphor for America in general.
I hear a familiar quiet rumble from behind me. I turn and squint into the distance. A smile comes to my lips as my intuition is confirmed. A truck is coming. I quickly do my best to make myself vaguely presentable before it gets close and I stand with the thumb of my right hand extended.
The truck thunders towards me before suddenly braking and coming to a stop. The side window is rolled down and the grizzled driver looks me up and down.
'Yeah ok,' he says, any preceding conversation unspoken.
I give him my best smile. 'Thanks friend, you won't regret it.'
He rolls his eyes as if to suggest he already is.
I climb into the cab and shake his hand. I settle into the seat and almost sigh with relief. Life is looking up for a while.